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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

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Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

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ferrstappen · 10 months

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max, the wag (for the third time) l Max Verstappen x reader

a/n: i was in the middle of writing this when news of Danny coming back to the grid!!! omg I'm so happy of seeing RIC and listening to his radios and everything, it wasn't the same without him <3

also, about requests. Please keep sending them, I've LOVED all the reqs I've gotten but right now im getting ready for my bar exam in a couple of weeks so my time is super super limited, but I promise I'll get to most of them (bc imsorry there are some reqs that I really can't connect with) after the exam, it's one of the things I'm looking forward to <3 but for now this kind of mediocre story telling will have to do...

ANYWAY, HOPE YOU LIKE THIS INSTALLMENT! you can find part 1 and 2 on the master list <3

summary: the continuation of your favorite paddock couple.

Max arrived to the track by himself.

If he was being honest, it wasn’t on his plans to walk alone with the photographers, Red Bull marketing team snatching him for stuff right after he swapped his credential. Even from far away he was able to hear chants of fans and more media than usual.

But you weren’t right there next to him.

He knew it wasn’t your fault, Silverstone not being a track where he was usually welcomed with opened arms and he was aware of you not wanting to be too in the eye of photographers who didn’t make questions to you, but there still were different WAGs and outfits or whatever accounts tracking your every step, especially with the new wave of partners and sudden break ups and polemics.

Still, the selfish part of him wanted you to enter the track with him, even if it was a few steps ahead or behind him, holding your hand and smiling as you complained about the amount of credentials you had to carry: the usual green VIP Paddock, Red Bull something. You’d think after all these years they’d know me, you’d say and he’d laugh.

On the other hand, you finished getting ready and called the front desk to get a taxi to get there, feeling a bit guilty of letting Max go on his own, especially when there were more eyes on the track with Brad Pitt being there and a lot of important people who’d want to talk with him all day.

Texting Max to let him know you were already by the guests entrance waiting when you noticed some intense flashes getting near. You’d been around a time or two to know this wasn’t usual, maybe in Miami but not when you were on the abandoned back entrance, not very glamorous and low key.

But you saw her…

Shakira, are you visiting Lewis?

Who are you cheering today?

Shakira, third Grand Prix of the year!

Did you talk to Lewis before? Is he nervous?

Your eyes followed her, mouth opening when you followed her small frame, exuding class and sympathy, even Alexandra who was also making her entrance stopped to get a closer look of the Colombian bombshell.

Of course, they didn’t ask her to show and get accredited, she just walked by with a radiant smile leaving paparazzi behind as she kept talking with the friend she came with.

But wasn’t that a Haas credential?

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t important, because right then your brain made the connections and started dialing Max while nervously biting your polished nails.

“Baby, everything okay? Are you already inside?” Max answered, but his words were quiet and rushed.

“Yes, but you’re never going to believe…”

“I’m sorry we have a meeting, please don’t go to the paddock, go straight to the driver’s lounge, okay? Love you”

He hung up and you wanted to pull your hair out, knowing he is the one and only person you wanted to share this information with, and you were also certain he was the only person who would truly appreciate the gossip and speculation about his fellow driver’s love life.

Max was able to leave the meeting almost forty minutes later, getting outside for some air until he remembered your call and that you probably were bored to death on the lounge. He was turning around to go there when…

When he saw the one and only Shakira in all of her glory.

He wasn’t starstruck or anything, being immune to celebrities and the imaginary pedestal where most people placed them, but this wasn’t about that, it was about the way she was supposedly hiding under a cap walking towards the Mercedes garage.

He covered his mouth and hastily made his way to you.

You didn’t greet each other with the usual peck on the lips and short hug; his slightly widened blue eyes told you exactly what you needed to know as he opened the door to his small room.

“Please tell me that you saw her!” You said as soon as he closed the door.

“Yes, just now she was walking to Mercedes,” Max was whisper shouting as if someone would hear him and it was the highest of secrets.

“Did you see Lewis?” You asked Max but he said no. “What if you try to ask Brad Pitt if he saw her and like if they’re friends… with Shakira?” This time both you and your boyfriend laughed at the idea.

"I did see Sainz trying to go unnoticed with a tall brunette,do you think she is the new girlfriend?" Max asked and you nodded.

"I'm pretty sure he cheated on Isa with her, and I am almost certain she was in the Paddock Club in Monaco during qualifying," Max whistled at the new information.

Now he kissed you, lips fitting perfectly against each other, but your eyes suddenly opened and separated from him. What? Why? What happened? Max was disconcerted.

“Please don’t laugh at me because this is a serious idea…” You told Max who had your entire attention. “What if we write to Deuxmoi?”

“Deux what?”

“They have all the inside scoops and sightings, even your name’s popped up once or twice,” Max’s eyebrows rose at the information. “We should write that Shakira was seen on the British Grand Prix and I am one hundred percent sure someone will have more information!” You proposed and Max chuckled.

“Schatz, I can just ask Lewis why she’s here,” Max told you before embracing you, his arms circled around your waist.

You rolled your eyes before resting your head on his chest, but suddenly it hit you, swiftly lifting your head and facing Max.

“Then why haven’t you asked him yet?!”

#max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen au #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen x you #max verstappen series #f1 fic #f1 masterlist #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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skz-streamer · 8 months

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2023 VMA's

<- BACK TO MASTERLIST

<- EVENTS TAB

Pairing: ot8 (skz) x fem!reader (9th member)

Genre: Fluff?, Crack? Idol Au

Warnings: suggestive kinda, a small mention of nudity with some outfits.

Notes: When I was watching the VMA's I KNEW I AHD TO DO SOMETHING. sooo here it is :) I realized I forgot to add their interview in here but whatever, also thing is literally all based off of Bongos because of their reactions to that performance LORDDD FUNNY AS HELL. so yea... im also insanely obsessed with them...

Summary: 2023 VMA's turned out to be a little funnier then you thought they would be.

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately face claims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count ~1.8k ;)

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As the van pulled up to the annual 2023 VMA's, the excitement among you and your fellow members of Stray Kids was palpable. This was a momentous occasion, the first time the group had the privilege of attending the prestigious awards show. The energy in the vehicle was infectious, a mix of nervous anticipation and uncontainable joy.

Inside the van, you couldn't help but admire the transformation of your fellow members. They were all dressed to the nines, their stylish suits and glamorous ensembles adding to the aura of excitement that filled the air. Hyunjin, in particular, had undergone a striking change for the occasion. He sported a fresh undercut, a hairstyle he had been yearning to try for a long time. The change suited him perfectly, adding to his already striking appearance.

As the only female member of Stray Kids, you knew that all eyes would be on you, so you had taken extra care with your outfit. You were dressed in a stunning Lapel blazer top button slit skirt set, which you had carefully chosen for the occasion. The top was a sleek black with slightly puffed-out shoulders, a V-neck with a stylish collar, and two buttons at the bottom. It exuded confidence and sophistication. The skirt, on the other hand, was a bit more daring. It hugged your body tightly, emphasizing your curves. It featured a daring slit that ran from the middle of your thigh down to your ankles.

Your choice of outfit had raised some eyebrows, with both the stylists and some of the boys expressing concern that it might be showing too much skin. However, you were quick to defend your choice, reminding them that VMA fashion was all about pushing boundaries and making bold statements. Growing up in the United States, you had been a dedicated fan of the VMA's for as long as you could remember. You had spent years watching the show, voting online, and dreaming of the day when you would be a part of it. Now, that dream had become a reality, and you were determined to make a memorable entrance.

As the van rolled towards the VMA venue, the nervous tension among you and the boys was prominent. Small talk filled the air, a feeble attempt to ease the apprehension that gripped each of you. It was clear that this was a significant moment, one filled with both excitement and trepidation.

You could sense the jitters in the van, a stark contrast to the exuberance that had filled it earlier. The boys were fidgeting, adjusting their suits, and stealing glances at each other. You, too, had thought that stepping onto the pink carpet would dissolve your nervousness, but as the van pulled up and the doors swung open, you were greeted by a frenzy of flashing cameras and enthusiastic shouts.

Cameras flashed from every direction, capturing your every move. The carpet was a vibrant sea of celebrities, some of whom you had admired for years. Your heart raced as you recognized familiar faces, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of fangirling yourself. The sheer star power in the vicinity was overwhelming.

As you walked through the barricades and onto the pink carpet, you were swiftly directed to your designated spot, and the command to smile was given. Your outfit, though daring, suddenly seemed rather modest compared to some of the ensembles on display. Megan's netted, see-through dress and Cardi's low-cut attire were enough to make anyone do a double-take. The boys' jaws nearly hit the ground, especially when Jeongin accidentally bumped into Doja Cat, who was rocking an absolute see-through dress.

Jeongin stammered an apology, and Doja Cat simply smiled and continued on her way. The boys' expressions were priceless, a mixture of shock, amazement, and perhaps a touch of embarrassment. You couldn't help but at their shared amused look, one that communicated, "Did you see her outfit?!"

You didn't need words to convey your thoughts; you your raised eyebrow and rolled your eyes, the boys interpreting it as an “I told you so virgins”, one of your most used lines. The boys understood, and though they didn't say it out loud, their sheepish grins and laughter betrayed their astonishment. Clearly, they were not entirely prepared for the bold fashion choices that often graced the VMA pink carpet.

As you made your way inside the building and found your seats, you realized that you weren't in the front row, but you were still pretty close to the stage. The excitement continued to build within you as you looked around at the familiar faces in the audience. Growing up watching these artists and admiring their work, you couldn't wait for the performances to begin. The nerves from earlier had started to fade, replaced by a sense of anticipation and wonder.

The atmosphere inside the VMA venue was electric as you and the boys chatted excitedly before the performances began. You took the opportunity to introduce some of the artists to them, explaining their music and significance. While most of the artists were already familiar to the boys, you could tell they were particularly excited about Demi Lovato's performance. It wasn't a surprise, given that you had caught them listening to their music in the practice room on multiple occasions, either vibing or dancing.

You, on the other hand, were eagerly anticipating the performances by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion. Their recent collaboration on the song "Bongos" had become one of your favorites, and you couldn't wait to see if they would perform it live. You had a feeling it would be a showstopper.

The show began with NLE Choppa and Nelly, delivering a bold and energetic opening performance. The boys were starting to get into the groove of the VMA's, and you couldn't help but chuckle at some of their flustered moments during the performance, especially when there was some intense "ass-shaking" involved. It was undoubtedly a cultural difference they were experiencing.

As the night continued, you watched Olivia Rodrigo's performance, knowing that Felix was a fan of hers. You couldn't help but notice the reactions of your members to her high notes, particularly Han's expression of awe.

Then came the moment you had been waiting for—Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion's performance of "Bongos." You knew that the boys were in for a surprise, especially with the explicit lyrics and slang used by the two artists. You were sitting next to Changbin, who seemed engrossed, a smirk playing on his lips. You were equally captivated by the performance, and you and Han matched each other's energy as you sang along to the lyrics. You were well-versed in the song, so you had no qualms about singing the explicit parts.

The boys' reactions were priceless. Felix and Chan, who were fluent in English, appeared somewhat surprised by the lyrics, but they couldn't look away from the mesmerizing performance. Jeongin's mouth hung open, and Hyunjin and Changbin were engrossed in a hushed conversation, probably trying to decipher some of the slang. It got so loud that toward the end, both Changbin and Hyunjin turned to face the wall, clearly flustered.

You couldn't resist teasing them, tapping their shoulders and playfully saying, "You don't gotta look away; their sexiness is part of the whole performance. It's the whole point." Your giggle and their embarrassed reactions were amusing.

Seungmin and Minho, although harder to see from your vantage point, likely had similar reactions. The whole scene was a mix of awe and embarrassment, and you couldn't help but laugh heartily at their expense.

The performance concluded with everyone turning back, their faces flushed red. You continued to chuckle and pat them on the shoulders, thoroughly entertained by their reactions. Han was right there with you, and the two of you had a blast throughout the entire performance.

When Demi Lovato took the stage, the boys went wild, fanboying over their incredible talent. It was a joy to witness their enthusiasm.

Later in the evening, awards were announced, and you and the boys engaged in random conversations. Your ears perked up when they discussed K-pop awards, and you paid close attention. You knew that TXT was also nominated and set to perform, so there was an element of nervousness in the air.

Then came the moment you least expected—they announced Stray Kids as the winners! It was your group! The shock initially left you in a daze, and you stumbled slightly on your way to the stage, but Changbin caught you, saving you from a potentially embarrassing fall.

Walking onto the stage with your fellow members, your mind felt fuzzy. Was this real? Chan and Felix took a few words, expressing gratitude and excitement. You chipped in with your thanks here and there, the elation clear in your voice.

----- Backstage

The anticipation backstage was palpable as your performance was up next. You couldn't contain your excitement, even though you had initially pitched a mashup of songs that you believed would be iconic. You had suggested blending "Hall of Fame," "S-Class," and "Super Bowl" into a medley, envisioning a performance that would leave a lasting impression. The combination of "Hall of Fame's" grandeur, the seductive whispers of "Super Bowl," and the catchy vibes of "S-Class" seemed like a recipe for an unforgettable show. However, it seemed that your idea had been outvoted, and the group settled on a remix instead.

Nonetheless, you were determined to give it your all. Backstage, you and your fellow Stray Kids members exchanged reassuring glances, a silent reminder that you were a team and that you had prepared for this moment together.

As you stepped onto the stage, the spotlight illuminated you, and the nerves threatened to shake you. Your heart pounded, but you focused on the task at hand. You were dressed in a short top with gold buttons, paired with shorts, and an undershirt with a yellow print that matched Han's outfit. The stage lights were blinding, but you pushed through the nerves.

The music started, and you gave it your all. Singing loudly and pouring all your energy into your dance moves, you felt the adrenaline rush through your veins. The crowd's cheers and screams were deafening, and that only fueled your determination. The energy in the venue was incredible, and it was a testament to the love and support of your fans.

As the performance reached its climax, you executed the choreography flawlessly, ending with a dramatic head tilt before turning your back to the audience. You were out of breath but exhilarated. It was a performance to remember, and the applause and cheers from the audience were music to your ears.

You resisted the urge to turn around and gauge the audience's reactions. Instead, you noticed Seungmin doing the same. Smiles exchanged between the two of you, a shared moment of pride and satisfaction. You both walked off the stage with the rest of the boys, following the well-rehearsed exit routine.

Despite the exhaustion, you felt a sense of accomplishment and euphoria. The performance had been tiring, but it had been worth it. The rush of being on stage, sharing your music with the world, and feeling the love from your fans was an experience like no other. You couldn't help but love every moment of it. The car ride home was gonna be fun.

-----------------------------

Taglist: @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @cherry-edibles @ren0325 @felixvsp @hwangrimi @sanriiolino @painstakingly-juno @herarcadewasteland @dabiscrustyfeet @kai-lee08 @sungiesoonie @slvtty4channiee @revelaffee @staygirl86 @chlodavids

If you wanna be added click here :)

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makingqueerhistory · 1 year

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Queer Book Recommendations

Every once in a while I like sharing some queer book recommendations on here as I read a lot and I get requests to share some of the books I love, so here we go!

Tell Me I'm Worthless: Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends Ila and Hannah. Since then, things have not been going well. Alice is living a haunted existence, selling videos of herself cleaning for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. She hasn’t spoken to Ila since they went into the House. She hasn’t seen Hannah either.

Our Wives Under The Sea: Miri thinks she has got her wife back, when Leah finally returns after a deep sea mission that ended in catastrophe. It soon becomes clear, though, that Leah may have come back wrong. Whatever happened in that vessel, whatever it was they were supposed to be studying before they were stranded on the ocean floor, Leah has carried part of it with her, onto dry land and into their home.

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty: Feyi Adekola wants to learn how to be alive again.It’s been five years since the accident that killed the love of her life and she’s almost a new person now—an artist with her own studio, and sharing a brownstone apartment with her ride-or-die best friend, Joy, who insists it’s time for Feyi to ease back into the dating scene. Feyi isn’t ready for anything serious, but a steamy encounter at a rooftop party cascades into a whirlwind summer she could have never imagined: a luxury trip to a tropical island, decadent meals in the glamorous home of a celebrity chef, and a major curator who wants to launch her art career.

Silver Under Nightfall: Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne (though his father might wish otherwise), an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. His mother was the subject of gossip even before she eloped with a vampire, giving rise to the rumors that Remy is half-vampire himself. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost.

Disintegrate/Dissociate: In her powerful debut collection of poetry, Arielle Twist unravels the complexities of human relationships after death and metamorphosis. In these spare yet powerful poems, she explores, with both rage and tenderness, the parameters of grief, trauma, displacement, and identity. Weaving together a past made murky by uncertainty and a present which exists in multitudes, Arielle Twist poetically navigates through what it means to be an Indigenous trans woman, discovering the possibilities of a hopeful future and a transcendent, beautiful path to regaining softness.

The Perks of Loving a Wallflower: As a master of disguise, Thomasina Wynchester can be a polite young lady—or a bawdy old man. She’ll do whatever it takes to solve the cases her family takes on. But when Tommy’s beautiful new client turns out to be the highborn lady she’s secretly smitten with, more than her mission is at stake . . .

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror: Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes—such as the circumspect and resilient “final girl,” body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet—spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture: Everything you know about sex and asexuality is (probably) wrong. The notion that everyone wants sex–and that we all have to have it–is false. It’s intertwined with our ideas about capitalism, race, gender, and queerness. And it impacts the most marginalized among us. For asexual folks, it means that ace and A-spec identity is often defined by a queerness that’s not queer enough, seen through a lens of perceived lack: lack of pleasure, connection, joy, maturity, and even humanity.

#refusing compulsory sexuality #it came from the closet #the perks of loving a wallflower #disintigrate/dissociate #silver under nightfall #you made a fool of death with your beauty #our wives under the sea #tell me im worthless #queer book recommendations #queer books #lgbt books #queer history

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sanjisjuul · 23 days

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Say Please!

Summary: You're a burlesque dancer and you spot Sanji in the crowd

Cw: Where do I start... fem reader, sub Sanji, cursing, smoking, you step on him, choking, slapping, nipple play, pussy eating, vaginal penetration

Note: I'm sorry I'm so inconsistent on here! It's hard with school and work, but I'm glad I could post something that I really enjoy!

Word count: 3.4k

Mini 18+

Cigarette smoke clouds the dingy locker room, the clouds circling around you and evaporating into the hot, sticky air. You roll the fabric of your black fishnets into your hands before pulling them up the expanse of your leg. The once-exhilarating feeling of getting ready for a show has turned into a mundane routine. Every Saturday, you sit in the same spot at your little vanity, placing hot rollers into your hair and intricately lining your eyelids and lips, all while swaying your head to the muffled jazz music playing in the background.

You enjoyed being a burlesque dancer; the glitz and glamor of it all is intoxicating. The extravagancy of the hair, the makeup, and the outfits makes you feel alive. The hot gazes of pathetic men as you dance your routines make you feel untouchable. and untouchable you are, because no matter how many men wait outside for you after shows or offer you a drink after a routine, you always politely decline. You do, however, enjoy teasing them; you love the looks on their faces as you sway your hips, their jaws slacking when you remove items of clothing; it's exhilarating and quite honestly turns you on.

“Y/N, 5 minutes to showtime!” You hear a voice call out to you as you buckle on your heels, standing to stare in the mirror. You smile, as you’re quite pleased with your appearance tonight. hair perfectly curled in a vintage curl pattern, your lips tightly lined and filled in a ruby red to match your sparkling red corset and panties. You slip your matching feathery robe over your body, followed by your black silk gloves. You pin a large feather into your hair before grabbing your fans and shuffling backstage.

Cheers and whistles are heard over the band as one of your coworkers finishes up a routine. She looks amazing as she smiles at the crowd as she blows a kiss, exiting stage left. You clap along with the audience, cheering for your fellow dancer, before your announcement starts. You strut onto the stage, the lights illuminating you and causing your skin to heat up. The crowd erupts in applause before the band starts to play.

You start with your back turned to the audience, swaying your hips to the music before twirling around. You smile to the crowd, slowly covering your fans over your body. Your eyes scan over the audience as you pulse your fans. You see some regulars, eyes locked on your figure as they sip their scotch. Some new faces appear as well: a group of men sitting in the right corner, faces heating up at the very sight of you, but your eyes lock on one person. Dead center, a man sits at a table alone; his legs are crossed as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. You mentally decide to nickname him Blondie, as his golden locks cover one side of his face. From the side, you can make out that he’s quite handsome with defined features. His jawline is well accentuated, although you can tell he’s tightly clenching his teeth together. He’s dressed in a suit, the maroon jacket thrown over the back of the chair, leaving him in a black button-down and white tie. His sleeves are rolled up past his black gloves, revealing his forearms to you. He wears matching maroon pants and black dress shoes. Good thing for you; you’re a sucker for a well-dressed man.

You tear your eyes away, deciding to pick on him a bit later. While continuing your routine, you twirl your fans around your body, the air whirling around you somewhat cooling you and relieving the burn of the harsh stage lights. You drop your fans, latching your fingers to the first glove, pulling it off ever so slowly before discarding it behind you. You latch your teeth to the next one, unconsciously locking eyes with the blonde as you tug it off seductively. A light blush coats his face as you twirl the glove and toss it.

You walk downstage, wrapping your hands around the tie of your robe, before undoing the knot, shimmying the fabric off your body, and letting it pool around your feet. Whistles and cheers erupt as you turn around, strutting back towards center stage and bending over, giving the audience access to marvel at your ass.

Nothing in the world could compare to the feeling you get on stage; it's high like no other. You love the feeling of having men absolutely lust after you as you dance and strip for them. You love the way their hungry eyes watch your every move. Tonight, you were most excited to have Blondie’s eyes on you. You feel his burning gaze on your backside as you lift your body back up, turning to face the audience once again.

You point a finger out, beckoning for the newcomer to approach you. His eyes widen in disbelief, looking around him to make sure he’s the target. He lifts himself off the chair, walking nervously towards you. You bend down on the balls of your toes as he comes closer. grabbing him by the tie as you pull him on stage. You can hear the grumbles from the audience as they wish they were so lucky to be in his shoes.

A chair is pushed on stage. devilishly smirking, you drag him over to it before pushing him down to sit. He looks absolutely astonished, his pupils blown and his face beat red as he adjusts his tie, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to gain composure. You turn around, arching your back to give him access to your corset, ass dangerously close to sitting on his lap. He gets the idea, swiftly biting his gloves off before reaching his shaky hands to loosen your corset. You smirk as it drops to the ground. turning first towards the audience as they marvel at your almost bare chest. You grin ear to ear as you shimmy, your nipple tassels shaking along with your breasts.

You turn back towards Blondie, who looks as if he’s about to cum in his pants. You settle yourself over his lap before taking a seat. Your eyes widen as you can feel a bulge through his pants. You’d be lying if this scenario didn’t turn you on as well. It’s not so often you get to tease an audience member as attractive as this one. paired with his fluster, you couldn’t be more excited as you ground your hips on him, pressing your chest towards his face. His breath hitches in his throat as his hands tense at his sides. The loud music comes to its climax behind you, so you turn around, bend down in front of him, and ghost your ass over his lap. You can tell he’s enjoying this; the sound of his groan is audible to only you.

You lean back into his lap, bringing your back to his chest and grabbing his tie once again. You roll your hips rhythmically, bringing your lips to his ear. “What’s your name, Blondie?” you half yell and half whisper, tugging his tie so he can hear you. “Sanji,” he breathes out, almost stuttering over his own name. “Hmm,” you respond, knowing you need to cut the conversation short to finish your routine. “Meet me at the back door when the show ends.” You let him go, grabbing his hand and directing him off stage before grabbing your fans off of the stage and finishing up.

The choreography almost slips your mind as arousal takes its place. You go through the motions as you wave your fans around once again, shimmying and twirling. Once the music ends, you hold your fans up high, smiling as the audience applauds your routine. You wink at Mr. Blondie before shuffling off stage, being greeted with a bottle of water by one of your coworkers.

You make sure to thank everybody’s praise, high-fiving the next dancers, before pushing the dressing room door open. “Quite the show,” you hear a voice from beside you. You snap your head in the direction of your friend and fellow dancer, Nami. “Jesus, you scared me!” You laugh as you unbuckle your heels, kicking them off by your station. "It seems like you had a good time,” she winks at you through her mirror as she takes bobby pins out of her hair. You roll your eyes. “Let me live; he was hot!” She cringes at your words, turning to face you. “The only thing men are good for is their money; besides that, they can’t provide anything.” You smirk at her words. “I don’t know about that,” you wink. She groans, turning back towards the mirror. “You’re gross.” You both laugh as you take off your outfits and get into something more comfortable.

You leave on your panties and heels, peeling off your pasties and slipping on a white t-shirt, which you could most definitely see through. You take a seat at your station, anxiously pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as you await the dancers exits. Slowly but surely everybody leaves, and one after the other, you say your goodbyes as they exit the dressing room. To your surprise, nobody really questioned why you were staying; either they were blissfully ignorant or Nami opened her big mouth (you knew it was the latter).

You grin as the last girl exits, running over to lock the door behind her. At this hour, mostly everybody had gone home, aside from some bartenders and managers, but to your delight, they never dared to come back into the dressing room. You approach the back door, grinning as you push it open softly. And there he stands, back to you, smoke twirling around his frame. You cross your arms, leaning against the heavy door. “Did you enjoy the show?”

He snaps his head around in surprise, noticeably eyeing you up and down with a blush still littered across his face. “Yeah,” he sheepishly smiles, “it was fantastic.” You grab one of his hands, "Why don't you come in?” He follows you, taking a seat in your chair, not bothering to take in his surroundings. His eyes stay trained on you, wide and almost in surprise, as you come to straddle his lap.

“i’m glad you liked it, Sanji." You purr out his name as one arm wraps around the back of his neck, the other reaching for his still-lit cigarette. His eyes follow your movements as you lift the stick to your mouth and inhale, blowing the smoke into his face before placing it back in between his lips. You can feel that he’s still aroused underneath you. his erection poking your inner thigh as his shaky hands ghost over your waist. You flip your hair over your shoulder, "What would you say was your favorite part?” You bring your lips to his neck, inhaling his cologne, before pressing soft kisses and licks along his skin.

He twitches underneath you. “Y-you,” he stutters out, “you were so amazing, so beautiful.” You hum in approval, the vibration of it causing him to let out a soft groan. “So sensitive,” you giggle before lifting your head to look back into his now half-lidded eyes. “You were my favorite part too,” you say, tapping his nose. “I’ve never brought up an audience member before,” you grin at him, to which he reciprocates. “Well, I’m honored to be the first madam,” he beams.

“You wanna have some fun,” you say, gripping his tie and pulling his face close to yours. You love this; being in full control. He looks so helpless underneath you as he nods his head frantically, eyeing your lips. You waste no further time, wrapping your hand in his tie and pulling his lips into yours.

You hum into the feeling of your lips melting together, and his hands plant themselves on your waist. You immediately open your mouth, allowing him to push his tongue past your lips, to which he moans. You stay like that for a moment, and the sounds of your lips smacking echo throughout the dressing room as you rock into each other's clothed sexes.

You break the kiss all too suddenly, leaving him panting and whimpering for more. You unwrap your arms from him, standing over him. “Get on your knees,” you command, to which he immediately obliges, dropping to his knees in front of you. He stares up at you desperately, a pure look of desire painted on his flushed face. You lift your leg up, sticking your heel into his chest and pushing him onto his back. He doesn’t resist, his body falling back onto the carpet with a thud. His hands fall to their sides, not bothering to brace his fall. Your heel comes into contact with his thigh, sliding it up to press on his cock. “You like that?” you question, digging in a bit harder, but not hard enough to cause any real pain. He nods erratically, his hands balling into fists as his hips twinge up into your touch. “Oh my god, yes,” he groans, his teeth clenching together as he fights the urge to cum right then and there.

Once you’re satisfied, you lift your foot off of him, and he whines at the loss of contact. You position yourself over his face. Before you can act further, Sanji’s hoarse voice comes from underneath you. “Let me taste you, please,” he begs, his hands coming to grip your ankles. You giggle before bending down, hovering over his face. “Go ahead, pretty boy.” You plant yourself directly on his face, not bothering to give him room to breathe. And to your delight, he doesn’t mind, bringing his large hands to grip your ass and breathe in your scent. His breath trembles as he exhales, his cock twitching in his pants, precum soaking the front of his pants.

He nips and licks the insides of your thighs as your chest heaves above him. You clench around nothing when he presses kisses on your cunt through your soaked panties. He whimpers from your taste, the corners of your lips twinging upwards in delight. You grip his hair, tugging his face further into your cunt. "Look at me." His pretty blue eyes stare up at you as he continues to please you. The sight of him trapped beneath you is delightful. He looks so pathetic like this, face buried in your clothed sex, drunk on your scent, hips rutting up into nothing just the way you had planned.

You reach down and pull your panties to the side, giving him full access to what he desires. He hums into your cunt, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking softly. You grind your hips into his face, sighing at the feeling of his hot, warm mouth on your most sensitive area. “Just like that baby,” you egg him on, his tongue now swirling around you in sloppy circles. Your eyes are screwed shut in bliss, and your focus is now on the way he expertly uses his tongue. You grasp his shirt, your knuckles turning white as you feverishly get off on his face. He holds onto you for dear life, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

The feeling of orgasm creeps up on you quickly as he sets a steady pace, allowing you to do as you please while he lies helpless underneath you. “I’m close,” you whine, your body trembling and your legs turning to jelly. He quickly removes a hand from your thigh, bringing a finger towards your entrance and inserting, it into your greedy hole. “Oh shit,” you clench your jaw, his finger finding your g spot almost immediately as he twists his finger in and out of you. Black specks fill your vision, your core tenses as the most powerful orgasm of your life washes over your body. your mouth parts in utter bliss, your eyes rolling back all while spitting out chains of curses. You rest for a moment, Sanji’s movements coming to a halt as you mentally regroup.

“Was that good?” He questions you eagerly, licking your juices off his lips with a goofy smile. You lean down to kiss his forehead. “You did very well,” you praise, beginning to unbutton his shirt. You kiss each inch of skin to be revealed, leaving love bites along his defined chest. You look up to him as you lick over one of his nipples, bringing the other between your fingertips. He throws his head back as you suck harshly on his chest, his legs shaking in pleasure.

“Fuck me,” he cries above you, his hands reaching to grip your shoulders. You take his nipple between your teeth, softly biting the sensitive flesh before releasing it. “hm? I didn’t hear you,” you tease, climbing up his body to take his face between one of your hands. “Fuck me,” he begs, his hair sticking to his forehead. You release your grip on his face, testing the waters further. “Say, please,” you command, slapping him straight across the face. He moans in pleasure at the connection, his head turning to the side as his hips twitch. “Please, love, please fuck me.”

You decide to give in; after all, he has been such a good boy for you. and you let him know, reaching down to undo his belt. You lick your lips as you tug his pants down his waist, surprised by the sight. “Oh my, look at the mess you made,” you coo, smirking at boxers absolutely soaked in cum. He covers his face in embarrassment, looking away. “I’m sorry.. I couldn’t help it.” You ignore his apology, tugging his boxers down. His cock is still as hard as ever, slapping his abdomen and leaving a wet spot slightly above his belly button.

“Ready?” you question, tugging your shirt over your head, tossing it behind you, settling over his length, but not yet giving him contact. “Mhm,” he hums, shaking his head and pushing your hair out of your face. You position yourself over his waist, grabbing his cock and guiding it inside of you. You groan simultaneously as you sink down, his cock filling you to the brim. “You’re so tight,” he croaks, his hands coming to cup your breasts to stabilize himself. You laugh, grinding your hips and throwing your head back in ecstasy. “You like that, pretty?” you question, setting a slow pace to begin. He takes a moment to answer, fighting back the whimpers to vocalize an answer. “Feels s’good.”

He attempts to raise his hips to meet yours, to which you lean forward, wrapping your smaller hand around his throat and forcing him to look you in the face. “Did you ask to do that?” You raise an eyebrow, squeezing lightly. He halts his movements and swallows, "No, ma’am.” You bring your lips to his ear, biting, causing goosebumps to spread across his skin. “Why don’t you ask nicely?” He quivers, “Please let me fuck you, my love, please!” You lean back, releasing your grip on his throat. “Good boy.” You finally let him take some sort of control as he gripped your ass. He plants his heels into the ground, lifting his hips to meet yours. You cry out as you plant your hands on his chest, your nails digging into his flesh, surely leaving marks.

He ruts into you at a harsh pace, desperation getting the best of him as he chases his orgasm. “Oh, Sanji,” you cry, his large cock hitting all of the right spots inside of you. “So beautiful,” he mutters, bringing a thumb to rub at your clit. You yell out at the feeling; your clit still sensitive from your orgasm. Sanji’s mouth is parted as he trains his gaze on where your bodies meet. The squelching of your mixed fluids echos around the room as you both near your highs. “Go ahead, Sanji, cum for me,” you encourage, holding his pretty face between your hands. His pace becomes erratic, his hips sputtering, before he deeply moans. His whole body trembles as he cuts inside of you. His seed paints your walls, causing you to come undone for the second time under his ministrations.

You collapse onto his chest, letting your arms fall limp as he wraps his larger ones around your frame. You pant into each other, reveling in the aftermath of your orgasms. He rubs circles into your back, relaxing you to the point where you almost forget your setting. “You’re perfect,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your hair and holding you tight. You smile into his shoulder, sweaty, exhausted, yet utterly delighted.

tags: @kibblz-n-bitz @bby-deerling @stardustcrustaders @pileofmush @willowbelle @bokutosbiceps @anemptypuddingcup @yoonavii

love bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა

#one piece fan fiction #one piece #one piece smut #sanji #sanji vinsmoke #sanji oneshot #vinsmoke sanji #sanji smut #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x you #with: sanji #op sanji #love bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩

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sink-me-in-your-ocean · 7 months

Text

Equilibrium

Phantom Ghoul x fem!Reader Smut

Summary: (Kinda) Part of a "Choose your own adventure" series in progress, but it works well enough on its own so I thought I would post it now.

WC: 3620

A/N: This one has bewitched me, (feral) body and soul. Fellow Phantom simps, this one is for you, but mostly me.

Content warnings: no plot - only spice, fingering, P in V sex. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

Your hard fist hit the door three times. Impatience was one of your most prominent traits and you’d be damned if you didn’t hate waiting on somebody else. Especially when that somebody else was the one who had plagued your thoughts for weeks. And at night his name was the one uttered from your lips from your own self-pleasure.

You grabbed the door handle and twisted, discovering much to your chagrin that was unlocked and you had been standing out here all this time. You walk into the room, scanning the space, noting the chill that bit your limbs. Fucking hells it was freezing. Your sisters told you that the ghouls run hot, but it was like a blizzard had hit the room. The room was also, to your dismay, empty of occupants. Maybe he’s not here?

Your ears perked up, hearing water running from an adjoined room. The joints of your fingers started to lock up as you lifted them to the wood of what you assumed was a bathroom door. You knocked, this time feeling a slight pain in your cold hands as you did so.

“Phantom?” You call out just loud enough, dragging out the vowels.

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to come ‘till later!” His voice echoed from inside the closed room, and you heard the water shut off abruptly.

“I can come back if you want.” You offered, giving him an out.

“Hells no!” He opened the door wearing nothing but a white towel.

Your mouth went dry at the sight. It hung low. Dangerously low. But that wasn’t the only thing you noticed. His human glamor was nowhere to be found.

Phantom’s true skin was grey, just the same as you had heard about the other ghouls, but his shoulders and chest had sparse midnight blue clusters of freckles. You marveled at the hard planes of his chest and stomach, at the way the water from the shower still clung to his arms and drenched his mostly-black hair. His signature white streak plastered itself to his forehead and the side of his face, while the rest stuck to his ears and neck. He had two near-black horns protruding from underneath his soggy hair. Finally, you settled your gaze on his face, his fangs slightly poked out through his parted lips. His beauty mark was also visible on his left cheek, several shades darker against the grey tones of his skin.

A half-smile spread on your face as you noticed his beauty spot, and you fought the urge to reach up and touch his cheek.

“Like what you see?” He cocked his head to the side, making you grin wider. It was truly no wonder why you were so drawn to him. In his human form he was cute… but as a ghoul? Strikingly handsome. Nine hells you wanted to kiss him.

“Maybe I do.”

“Set in your choice?”

“Maybe I am.” You nibbled your bottom lip, tempted to rake your gaze over Phantom’s body again.

Instead, you walked past him and into the bathroom, leaning yourself over the vanity to feign checking yourself out. You mostly just needed a break from looking at him half-naked. “My darling ghoul,” you called absently, “you’re not wearing your glamor. Sister Imperator would not be pleased, I wouldn’t want to tell on you, but…”

He looked down at himself, “Oh shit, you’re right.” He shrugged, “I thought you were going to change your mind or something. Figured it wouldn’t matter too much either way if I just ‘let it all hang out’ so to speak.”

“No, no, I just wanted to tell you so you could change back.” You played with your hair, tucking back a few strands that had come loose from your braid.

“Well, I can if you want me to. Do you?”

You opened your mouth to answer but he cut you off.

“Wait, did you just call me ‘my darling’?” Your eyes flicked back to him through the mirror, heart temporarily quivering as he repeated your words back to you.

You regained your composure before his teasing look could disarm you further. “That’s what you heard out of me talking?”

He advanced on you suddenly, barely giving you enough time to turn around to face him. You backed up against the counter top, your spine arching as you shrunk back, and your fingernails digging into the underside of the cold marble. His arms came down on either side to trap you in place.

There was a mix of anticipation and cockiness in his expression, “You like me, don’t you?”

“Phantom, it’s a wonder why Sister Imperator doesn’t consult you for logistics.” He made a face, clearly missing your sarcasm, and you liked him even more for it. “Of course I like you. I wouldn’t be here if not.”

A shy smile ghosted across his lips, and you caught another glimpse of those fangs. You filled the silence by speaking again, “Well? Don’t just leave me hanging.”

“I like you too.” His admission was softer than a feather but weighed as much as concrete.

You stifled a knowing smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You’re a little trickster then.” You cocked your head, “you had me thinking I was the only one.”

His smile matched yours, “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner, for a while there I thought I’d burst into flames because you kept giving me those eyes.” You laughed at that, knowing full well what he meant, and he continued, “And just so you’re well aware, there’s nothing about me that’s little.”

“Oh, you nasty ghoul.”

“Yes?”

Your eyes narrowed, “You lured me in here on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hard to say, really,” you watched, hypnotized as his tongue wet his bottom lip and then he leaned in close. “But that’s not the only thing that’s hard.” His breath coasted along your neck and goosebumps raised along the path, as if your skin was subconsciously reaching for him. You felt his lips barely hovering by the shell of your ear, causing a stirring sensation that shot through your entire body.

You shoved at his chest playfully and he smirked at you, both of you knowing where this is going. You felt a fluttering in the pit of your stomach and finally allowed yourself to reach your hand up, brushing the white and black, slightly air-dried, hair away from his face. No more hesitation. Something inside you gave you the gumption to raise up on your tiptoes and kiss him. You planted a single smooch on his lips, closing your eyes as you did.

You drew back, studying his features. He was so still, his eyes scrunched closed in a combination of tension and serenity.

“Phantom?”

He opened his eyes, his dark gaze devouring you. The air in the room changed and all ambient sound seemed to have been sucked into a void. You couldn’t look away from him. Afraid for a half of a second that maybe he didn’t like the kiss, you opened your mouth to allow the doubt to pour out. But you never got a single syllable out before his hands were on your face, tilting your head up to kiss you.

His mouth met yours in a breath-stealing kiss. Your hands immediately laced through his damp hair, touching the sides of his face, his neck, pulling him in closer. You parted your lips slightly on the next kiss and he used it to his advantage, his tongue swiping ever so lightly between your lips to taste you. You open your mouth more, allowing him full access. Feeling his tongue brush yours made you lightheaded.

Phantom grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. The hunger shared between the two of you felt as though it had been building for years, your entire life even. A tickle on the back of your thigh made you jump, opening your eyes and breaking the kiss for a moment.

He huffed a laugh, “Sorry, my tail seems to have a mind of its own sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” you kissed him again, “I like it.” You brazenly reached around his waist to feel the base of his tail. He jerked involuntarily towards you and you felt his hard length pressing against your abdomen. How that towel was holding up you had no idea.

Touching, tasting, breathing him in, it wasn’t enough. You needed so much more. Your core ached in a way that silenced all thoughts of self-doubt and modesty.

Your hands moved up his back, feeling his warm skin and the tight muscles underneath. He unzipped the back of your dress, and you felt it fall open, the air and his hands touching your bare skin underneath.

“No bra?” He said, sliding your dress down while moving into a crouched position in front of you.

“Hm.” You purse your lips, drawing it out, “That’s not all.”

He made a sound like you’d imagine a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles. Astonished but intrigued. “No underwear?”

You shrugged, “Surprised? I thought I could just ‘let it all hang out’, or however you put it so eloquently.”

Phantom stared up at you, trying to hide a smile, and you could see a color creeping up over his cheeks. Could a ghoul even blush? He giggled lightly, shaking his head at you in what seemed like amazement.

He helped you step out of the dress, his eyes sweeping over your naked frame, drinking all of you in. Phantom rose slowly and his long fingers trailed up the inside of your legs. The calluses of his fingertips tickled, making you twitch slightly as they neared where you wanted to feel him the most. His right hand moved around to your waist, the other hesitated between your legs, just an inch or so from your core.

“Sit.” He commanded. You obeyed, your ass meeting the countertop, your legs parting on their own accord in silent invitation.

“Please, Phantom, touch me.”

“As you wish.”

You inhaled sharply as his middle finger swiped through your folds, dragging languidly in the wetness there. He let out a needy noise, leaning down to breathe you in, kissing and sucking your neck. You wanted him so badly, and now that he could feel that, the implication made you even more weak for him.

His middle and ring fingers dragged again through your wetness, lingering for a moment before pressing inside you.

You cried out at the intrusion, wincing slightly. It had been so long since you had a partner, and still your fingers never made you feel like this. Phantom knew all the right moves, drawing in and out at a steady pace. His fingers felt exquisite as they lazily fucked your slick cunt. And when his thumb pressed lightly against your clit, you whined his name. Suddenly you needed to see him exposed too, because if just his fingers made you feel so good then…

“You won’t be needing this.” You pulled his towel off his body, baring him before you. Your eyes widened at the size of him. Fuck. Your mouth salivated at the sight of his long, hard cock. You couldn’t stare too long, as his lips moved from their place on your neck and collarbone back to your lips.

Each kiss, every touch was hotter than the last, igniting the two of you. He was burning up. He felt perfect against your ice cold skin. Like a day of sun in the middle of a desolate winter.

You had half a mind to beg him to fuck you on the counter, and it’s like he knew were about to speak, because he interrupted your thought with an even more tantalizing suggestion.

“Can I fuck you in the shower?”

You moaned, his fingers curling inside you deliciously, “What do we say when we want something, darling ghoul?”

He groaned, his hand moving from your waist to the nape of your neck. He gathered your braid and yanked sharply, exposing more of your neck for him to lavish. “Fuck,” he uttered between bites along your soft skin, “can I please take you in the shower?”

“Yes.” Your word was barely out of your mouth when he planted another fierce kiss to your lips. His fingers left you empty as he helped you off the counter. You would have followed him anywhere at that moment, anything to get him touching you again.

He took you by one hand and walked towards the shower with you, kissing you every step of the way until your feet hit the slick stone of the shower floor. He gave your hands a squeeze to turn around and turn the water on. You smirked at seeing his cute butt, his tail protruding from just above. You were filled with the sudden urge to bite him when a large waterfall nozzle poured water out from above the two of you, bringing you back out of your thoughts.

Phantom turned to face you again, and all the sustenance in the world couldn’t quench the hunger in his eyes. Your adrenaline spiked then - or maybe it was the momentarily cold water splashing on your feet. Maybe it was the anticipation of knowing that you were finally living the fantasy you had wanted for so long.

He pressed you against the tiled wall of the shower, the now warm water flowing down providing sweet relief for your chilled naked body. Your back was cold against the tile, so you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. For warmth.

The two of you shared a series of messy kisses, your lungs suffocating from the intense lack of air as steam circled you. He closed the open space between your bodies quickly, his strong hand taking hold of your right leg and lifting it up to meet his waist. Once there, you were just one slight move from being as close together as you could possibly be. The head of his cock nudged at your opening, and you felt yourself instinctively clench with want. The water from the shower did a great job making your whole body wet, but you were dripping with need for him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your gaze moved up to his. Phantom’s dark eyes were clouded with lust, but wavered in slight trepidation. He was serious, wanting your full consent before going any further. For a beat, your heart stuttered in your chest, knowing there would be no going back if you two did this. You couldn’t say no, though, there was something primal in you that screamed with demand. He was the only one you wanted, and you wanted him desperately.

Heart still pounding, you reached up to touch his cheek and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. You broke the kiss to give him your answer, “Yes, yes Phantom, I want you.”

He nodded, eyes flicking over your face to search for any hits of doubt. Satisfied with your sincerity, he nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing you in deeply as he pulled you in. His cock pressed inside you with ease, meeting no resistance. You bit back a moan, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard you tasted iron on your tongue. If kissing him for the first time was ecstasy, feeling him inside you for the first time was oblivion.

“Oh fuck.” Your foreheads pressed together and you exhaled heavily as he sheathed himself inside you.

It was like a switch had flipped, you two went from frantic grasping and fevered kisses to slow, intentional movements. His right hand cradled the back of your head as he thrust into you with a deep rhythm that made your stomach tighten. He raised your right leg up higher so you were on your tiptoes, trying to press further inside you.

The water from the shower head cascaded down your skin in rivulets, adding a tickling sensation over your breasts and your stomach as it trickled over you. It felt like something out of a fucking romance novel. The heat, the chill, the need, the gratification; a perfect equilibrium.

His hand grabbed greedily at your left thigh, “I need you closer.”

A feather of a laugh lifted the corners of your lips, “I don’t think that’s possible.” You kissed him again, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and biting it. He growled, fangs jutting out to try to bite you back. You moved your face away, seeing the playfulness in his pitch-dark eyes mixed with something mischievous.

“It is.” That was the only warning he gave before he lifted you up effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist and you gasped at the sensation of weightlessness.

You felt a furious blush burn over your face and neck, flustered at the ease with which he picked you up. Flushed at the way his cock bottomed out inside you fully. Your walls tightened from the additional intrusion, and you moaned into his mouth. Your lips collided together in a series of heady open-mouthed kisses, becoming a mess of teeth, tongues, and fangs.

Your hands tangled themselves perfectly in his drenched hair and you rested your head against the tile to get a good look at him.

His dark brows were drawn together, and he had the look of utmost concentration and pleasure on his face as he drove into your heat. There was a deepening of the color on his cheeks again, a soft blush. He adjusted his hands from your thighs to have one arm firmly around your back, the other hand holding the roundness of your ass. Phantom’s eyes were turned down, and you followed where he was looking.

You let your gaze drift down, admiring again his toned, hard body against your soft, squishy one. When you looked all the way down to where you two were joined, watching and feeling everywhere each and every thrust of his cock inside you, you felt like you would melt.

It was all so intimate, too intimate for your first time together. Seeing his true form, being held so tightly in his arms, fuck, he had you. He had you so well. And the way he felt inside of you was divine. Like you were made for each other.

Your body burned, your muscles trembled, your jaw twitched. Phantom tightened his hands on your waist and back, his claws scratching at your supple skin while his teeth and tongue took turns with your neck. His tail snaked up and twisted around your ankle, locking you further in place as if you’d run away on your own. You couldn’t even think of being apart from him. You never wanted him to leave your body.

As if the passion in the moment wasn’t enough, he reached a hand between you two, finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. You keened, bucking your hips forward, trying to grind harder against him, but he was in full control, holding you steady while he increased his rhythm. You felt a tension building in your abdomen, and you closed your eyes tightly, trying to resist your impending orgasm. You didn’t want to come yet, you wanted to draw it out more, but the added pressure on your clit from his thumb was butchering your resolve. Your breathing increased, every exhale punctuated by a whine as you felt yourself getting closer, and closer.

He noticed your futile writhing in his arms, “Are you going to come for me, pretty girl?”

You mewled, “Yes - but I want you to -” you couldn’t finish the sentiment, incoherent babbling becoming all you could muster. You were so close.

“You want me to? Where do you want me to come?”

“Inside me -” Your legs tensed, your abdomen tensed, your whole body locking up as your pussy clenched around him. You could no longer breathe or think.

“Fall apart for me, only me.” He kissed your neck, sucking on the skin there before drawing back. “Look into my eyes, sweet girl.”

You did, his near-black irises melted you from the inside. That taught string that had been holding you snapped, sending you spiraling. Your mouth fell open and a moan tore its way from your throat. He planted his lips to yours as you shattered in his arms.

His hands both moved up to your shoulders, pulling you down hard onto his cock as he drove himself as deep within you as possible. You felt him twitching inside you, warmth spreading as he came for you.

You stay there for a minute, your breathing returning slowly to a normal cadence as the water continues to run over the both of you. You were wholly grateful for his inhuman strength; Phantom held you like you weighed nothing. He put one hand under your rear and the other came up to your face, his thumb stroked your bottom lip. His fingers caressed your chin, tilting you up and into one final searing kiss to seal your shared passion.

“Can you stand?” He withdrew himself from you and moved to gently place your legs back down on the stone floor.

“I - I think so.” Your stubborn legs wanted to give out, all your body wanted to do was collapse in a heap.

He offered you his hand, helping steady you. “Want to get cleaned up? I mean, we might as well since we’re already in the shower.”

“Yes,” you answered, before playfully adding, “please.”

“What am I going to do with you?” He whispered, kissing your forehead as you both relaxed in the steady stream of water.

#the band ghost #the band ghost x reader smut #the band ghost x reader #phantom ghoul #phantom ghoul x reader #phantom ghoul smut #phantom ghoul x reader smut #aeon ghoul

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taintandviolent · 9 months

Text

deflowering ; James March x virgin!Reader

{requested by anonymous} summary: 7k words! after a little dancing, more than a little champagne, you decide to take James March up on his offer of going up to one of the new rooms of the Hotel Cortez, to break them in, as it were. Little does he know, he's about to break you in, too. w a r n i n g s: virgin!reader (adult), mentions of alcohol, rough sex, explicit descriptions, canon divergence, rough sex, thigh riding, cunnilingus, blowjobs, aggression, use of 'daddy', dom themes.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny

It was the twenty-third of August, 1926, and you had just finished your second glass of champagne in the Hotel Cortez. Usually, you never drank this much, but it was a celebration after all. Some fellow named James Patrick March had finally completed the arduous construction of his new hotel and tonight was the opening night. Crowds had flocked to the entrance, dressed to the nines and all eagerly craning their necks for a peek at the glamorous inside. Those who weren’t explicitly invited were turned away by the doorman in his starched uniform.

You, of course — you’d been invited by your friend’s friend’s friend and when you showed up in a beaded, green dress and the mink stole your mother had given you four birthdays ago, you waltzed right through those doors without a single question. You looked like you belonged here as much as the group of actresses that walked in before you. The moment you entered, the hotel stole a gasp from your lips, dazzling you with its prestige and innovation.

It had been toted as “an overly ambitious project” and you could certainly attest to that. Mr. March, whomever he was, had written a particular aesthetic into the design of his hotel and from the hexagonal patterned carpets to the ornately panelled gold walls, everything fit the opulent theme. The Blue Parrot Lounge was a name you’d heard whispered several times, waiters coming down the curved staircases with trays full of delicate champagne flutes. You learned shortly after that the bar was on the second floor and overlooked the entire hotel lobby.

But downstairs in that lobby, a band was set up, their instruments exhaling the liveliest melody you’d heard in ages. Easily, they persuaded the masses to kick their heels up. The grand chandelier above your head twinkled like your own personal galaxy, shimmering every time you moved. In fact, everything twinkled. You felt ebullient, as light as a cloud, and didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been a brief pause where Mr. March welcomed everyone to his Hotel in his dangerously cordial way, making a show of popping champagne. Everyone applauded, congratulated and then quickly dispersed, eager to return to the complementary libations. You’d eagerly taken to the dance floor and quickly found a partner in a jazzy white suit. He had blonde hair, sharp, chiseled features and deep green eyes - handsome enough. You two paired alright, enjoying each other’s lively moves.

He’d clearly been drinking more than you, judging by the way he slurred his compliments to you, dabbing nervously at the sheen of sweat that decorated his forehead. After an hour or so of dancing, your feet were sore and your curious nature had wrapped its tendrils around your throat, ordering you to investigate the rest of the hotel.

A server held another glittering tray of champagne high above everyone’s heads, and you snatched one as he passed you, hurriedly bringing it to your mouth. The effervescent liquid tickled the bow of your lips, the tiny bubbles popping as you sucked in a delicate mouthful. You dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger, trying not to gulp too loud.

As the song changed, the band racing into another upbeat melody, you swung your shoulder around, prepared to sink deeper into the hallways. Instead, you nearly collided with a broad shoulder. “Oooh! ‘Pardon me!”

“Mm.”

You recognised him right away. In the wicked and honest parts of your brain, you were thrilled that, of all people, you’d bumped into him. During his speech, all the women were staring with illicit gazes and hungry tongues. You’d mapped the direction of their eyes as they scanned along his face, and down his body as they openly and dissolutely lusted after him. The audible whispers that scattered the room when he cracked open the champagne, allowing the fizzy stream to spray into his mouth would’ve been laughable if you hadn’t been one of the whisperers.

He seemed slightly less personable now, almost curt in nature. Something about the dismissive way he’d flashed his brows at you as if he was annoyed sparked a fire in your curiosity. He was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and surely, there must be a reason for his clipped response. You gulped down a mouthful and cleared your throat.

“Say, aren’t you Mr. March?” You asked coyly, knowing full well who he was.

He stopped then, like he’d been challenged to a duel, and with a slight bow, turned gracefully on his toes. To him, it was a challenge. You hadn’t run off with your tail between your legs, offended by his sternness, and that was a challenge for conversation, for flirtations and perhaps… indulging himself.

“Indeed I am. Enjoying yourself?” He eyed the half-empty glass in your tiny little hand, taking note that it clearly wasn’t your first.

“Oh, very much so. This is a ssswell party, Mr. March.”

“Splendid! And please,” He took your hand in his, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Call me James.”

You cooed in acknowledgment, watching him from the rim of your glass. He lingered for a little too long and you would’ve bet your last penny that you saw his nostrils flare slightly as he inhaled a deep breath of your scent. After a moment, James straightened up, keeping a firm grip on your hand.

He had indeed; you were sweet, like a delicate pastry with the slightest hint of fruitiness underneath. There were notes of a perfume, floral, something moderately expensive — surely, something you’d saved up all your pocket change for. The way your eyes glimmered awoke a deep hunger within his core. He’d play with this.

“Tell me, my dear. Can you dance?” He asked.

The moment you said you could, he’d wrapped your slender arm around his forearm, holding onto it tightly as he towed you back towards the dance floor. Thank god your mother had insisted you learn how to dance properly. And thank heavens your friend, whom Mother detested, taught you how to dance improperly. Mother had always said these new trend dances were for immoral and loose women, but when James March insisted you dance the Charleston with him, you’d never been gladder for immorality in your life.

Keeping a tight hold on your hand, he swung you out into the clearing. With his fee hand, he made a quick gesture to the band. They responded by starting up the familiar melody, and James stepped to your side, lifting his brows in a silent confirmation that you were as ready as you looked. You gave him a short nod, and you both took one step backwards, beginning the shuffling motions.

His feet moved quick to the rhythm; behind and in front of each other, his heels kicking out to the side. All things considered, you made a worthy partner, keeping up with his lively, bobbing movements. Your hands were at your waist, fingers splayed out, swishing from side to side. You both leaned forward in unison and sent your right heels up into the air. The moment you straightened up again was when you realised that a small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez and all of their eyes were on the two of you. Everyone was watching as you two masterfully stepped the Charleston and you felt like a celebrity, a performer with the most handsome partner.

There was one woman in particular, a gorgeous brunette gal, who looked on with narrowed eyes. James stepped in front of your line of sight, flashing a villainously personable smile, and spun you back to his side. Though he wouldn’t dare voice it, the beginning twitches of an erection had his cock stirring in his pants. You were delectable and lively, something he’d take great pleasure in snatching away from you. All the more arousing that she hasn’t the slightest clue….

As the song ended, you couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giddy laughter, falling backwards into his chest. You couldn’t be sure, but as his arms enclosed around you, you thought you heard a syrupy laugh deep in his throat. Both of you were tuckered out, chests heaving, a misting of sweat covering your décolleté and his forehead. After a moment in his strong arms — ooooh, his arms — he brought a handkerchief from a pocket, dabbing his forehead gently. Modest applause peppered the crowd, along with a few glad compliments.

“I don’t mean offence by this, but…” You swallowed, wetting your throat. “I didn’t think you could dance like that!”

“I’m full of surprises.” He answered.

James swooped around you, circling you predatorily. His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, sending a convulsive shiver down your spine.

You two locked eyes then, staring wordlessly. Both of you unable to ignore the need, the pulling draw, the hunger to touch each other. It was the sort of gaze that started rumours. His tongue scraped along the roof of his mouth, longing to taste the churning arousal between your legs. He knew it was there, told plainly by the way you fiddled with the hem of your neckline, nervously, trying to placate your own licentious thoughts.

“Beautiful hotel, really.” You finally whispered.

“Allow me to show you the best room in the house.” His eyes flashed to yours, sensing the apprehension. You rolled your shoulders inward, prepped to decline as politely as you could.

“Oh now, now… no need to be shy. I’m a gentleman first and foremost.”

“I don’t know if your lady friend will enjoy that…” You retorted.

“You are the only lady in my company.” He assured.

You gazed behind him one more time and met eyes with her — an action you’d immediately regretted. Her gaze was as comforting as a jail cell, and her full lips were pulled into a tight, frustrated line that held back a myriad of hatred. You opened your mouth to speak, but a forefinger was pressed hurriedly into your cupids bow, shushing you quickly. He looked down at you, brows furrowed in disapproval.

“Now, now. Shh. I’d hate to have to cut out your tongue, my dear. I had plans for it later.”

Your brows pulled together, eyes displaying nothing but sheer confusion. What on Earth did he mean by that? Either of those things? You were too afraid to broach the question, partly in fear that the answer would’ve frightened you, or worse, aroused you.

As though he read your mind, heard your innermost thoughts, he added quickly: “If you want to find out what… well, you’ll have to follow me first, my dear. Shall you?”

He extended his hand to you, palm up.

Against your better judgement and without thinking a second more about the repercussions, you took it and managed to squeak: “To the moon, James.”

When you glanced over his shoulder a final time, that woman watched you as he led you away, that tumultuous anger burning in her eyes. Something about her piercing gaze sent a shiver down your spine. She looked innocent enough, but underneath the done-up exterior, there was a cruelness, a hostility that you wanted nothing to do with. You hurried your steps, pinning yourself closer to James.

The journey took longer than you expected as every few moments, he was stopped by a hotel guest and congratulated. Everyone from stuffy elderly couples to actors you recognised from pictures all wanted to shake hands with the man that had created “the hotel of the century”. You hung on his arm, politely silent, offering agreeing nods and kind smiles when they’d look at you. They must’ve assumed, of course, that you two were an item, and for that brief, fleeting moment, you were thrilled by the idea.

Once he’d pushed open the door, allowing room for you to walk in, you realised that the room he’d led you into was the room he’d cracked the champagne in — except it had been expertly cleaned within a few hours. There were no crowds, no remnants, no sounds aside from a pair of breaths; yours and his. Although, if you listened hard enough, you thought you heard the dull, muted music from below. It sounded hazy and slower up here in this room.

The lock clicked into place and James had you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, his pencil-thin moustache tickling the sensitive flesh under your jaw. He whispered seductive words of veneration into the nape of your neck, praising your appearance between breaths and tastes of your salty flesh.

“Forgive my eagerness,” he whispered into your ear, before nipping at your skin. “I find you… irresistible.”

Delighted by the sensations, your lids fluttered. You extended your neck to him, allowing more. He kissed your neck over and over again and began sucking too hard in certain spots. You let out the tiniest little hums of discomfort, trying to stretch away from him then. However, somewhere deep in your core, you craved that pain, the burn of his suckling kisses.

“I want you to kiss me.” He declared, finally pulling away to gaze upon your face, like he was studying it. “Kiss me, but don’t hold back. I want to feel your passion.”

You nodded quickly, feigning all the courage in the world. Nervous? Who, me? Never! Your lips clashed together as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could. His mouth parted, allowing his tongue out to swirl around yours, and you could taste the champagne that lingered on it like a fading memory. He deepened the kiss, moving further into your mouth and all you could do was moan into his. Silly girl, he must’ve thought.

His hand left your side, trailing further down. With a cruel tug, James yanked your stocking from its front clip, tearing a generous hole in the nylon, then repeated the process with the other. You broke the kiss to watch this fiery display of arousal in awe, feeling a new, unfamiliar fire in your stomach. You’d been aroused before — hell, even pleasured yourself shyly under the sheets… but the hunger. The hunger that clawed at your insides with reckless abandon was speaking in a foreign tongue… but it was one that you wanted to translate into physicality.

“Oooh, easy tiger…”

His fingers splayed out over your now bare thighs, exploring the smooth skin ravenously. As he neared your centre slit, he snarled in response — whether intentionally responding to the animalistic nickname you’d given him, or because he’d felt the slippery nectar dripping from between your legs, you couldn’t know. You thought it might be the latter. You hoped it was.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you to wobble forward with want. He made a beeline to the nearby alcohol cart that had been arranged near the door and poured amber liquid into one of the glasses and golden champagne into another. He brought the darker coloured one to his lips.

“Mmm…” He growled as he swallowed, locking eyes with you, walking confidently towards the nearby chair. Though his head was turned away from his destination, he didn’t stumble, just gracefully sunk down into the chaise lounge without spilling a drop of his precious liquor.

You were in awe of this man’s finesse, of his charm, and the adoration for him displayed all over your cheeks. You didn’t need to bring out your compact to know that the flush had travelled down your neck, and your pretty little doe-eyes were as wide as saucers. He set the glass of champagne down on a nearby end table, presumably where it would stay until you reached for it.

“What’s underneath that ravishing dress, hm?” He asked. You gathered your lips to one side in a coy expression.

“Let’s see,” you tittered. "My bra and my knickers. And…. A pair of torn stockings and shoes, if you’re a specifics kinda’ guy…” You knew he was.

He waited.

You raised your brows, cocking your head to the side in affirmation — that was all. You were a woman of style after all. In this outfit? You wouldn’t be caught dead in a corset or a slip. Besides, corsets were for stuffy old broads nowadays. Everyone was wearing bras.

“Take it all off. Everything but the dress.”

Surely, the dress would be the first thing to go? It was an odd request, even for your virgin experience. You’d heard stories of men and their covetous desires. The idea of keeping the biggest article of clothing on seemed unorthodox, but you weren’t about to question his demands.

Obediently, you bent down and undid the buckles of your shoes, stepping out of them carefully. With a shy bat of your lashes, you turned away from him, shimmying and shrugging out of the straps of your dress until they fell into the crooks of your arms. Reaching around behind your back, you unlatched the satin bra, letting your supple breasts spring free of the compression.

Your heart pounded as you bent down again to slide the satin underwear over the curve of your ass and down your equally satiny thighs, giving the man behind you the tiniest previews of what was to come. Facing him again, you held your dress at your chest, carefully sliding the straps back up your arms one by one.

With a drink in one hand, the other stretched over the back of the loveseat and a delightedly smug expression, James watched your undergarments fall to the floor piece by piece. His cock throbbed in his pants, the thick fabric doing a damned good job at keeping the beast at bay. Free of everything, your dress hung a little different now, and his black eyes were aflame with the realisation. You swayed back and forth, the strands of sequins brushing lightly against your thighs.

As you bent down one final time, reaching for the nylons, came his voice. “Leave those.”

After a small sip, he pat his thigh twice with his free hand; the sound of his palm snapping against the taut fabric atop his thigh echoed in the room. For a brief, insecure second, you were frozen. A deer in the headlights. Except the headlights weren’t headlights, they were the eyes of the hungriest tiger you’d ever seen and you’d already succumbed to your fate the moment he locked the door.

“Come to daddy.”

You shuddered in response, your tummy doing backflips like an acrobat in a circus act. His words held such command and purpose, you had no choice but to saunter over to him, swaying your hips a little more than you usually did. He seemed to enjoy that; a tiny smirk played out over his mouth.You pressed your knees against his, struggling to not come undone at the contact. With a deep breath, you manoeuvred yourself in between his parted legs.

“Good…” He replied. “Atop my thigh, my pet.”

With your flesh turning a deep shade of red, you walked over his thigh, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion. You felt the air on your cunt, the chill of the room touching the wetness and making it tingle. You looked down at his groin. The fabric was pulled taut. You could make out the faintest outline of a swelling cock underneath —

You snapped your attention back to him, embarrassed. He downed the rest of his drink, set it carelessly on the table next to your still-full champagne and lifted his hand to your legs. The pad of his middle finger caressed the back of your knee, sending a shockwave through your entire body. No man had ever touched you like that, the sensation was erotic and overwhelming to your core. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed higher.

You reached for the champagne, and despite the sting in your nose, you downed the entire glass, setting it back on the small table.

“Lower.” He commanded, amused.

You obeyed, bending your knees.

“Lower.” He repeated.

He’d lined it up perfectly; James pressed that same finger into your slit as you lowered, wiggling it further in, then flicking it up to your clit. You let out a shrill mewl. Your knees nearly buckled as he circled the bundle of nerves, bringing the sensitivity higher. You squeezed your eyes shut as hot, salty tears bit at the corners. Your muscles had begun to quiver, overwhelmed by the strain of hovering over his thigh. His skilful fingers manipulated your cunt, simply playing with your wetness.

James abruptly yanked you all the way down, forcing you into a straddle. Your cunt was spread, pressed tight against his thigh and you needed no instruction on what to do next.

“Ooooh,” he growled, watching your hips as they ground your weeping cunt against the expensive fabric of his suit pants. “Good girl. Your desire is intoxicating… show me how much you want me…. yes.”

James chuckled, knowingly. Despite your best effort in trying to suppress your moans, he saw through the act. The skin of your neck had flushed red. Your soft jaw hung slack, tiny little moans floating out every time he touched you. Your sweet little eyes rolled back into your head every time he so much as flexed his thigh muscle. He knew the effect he had on you. Every slight movement from him ground against your cunt, sending shuddering waves of heat into your core.

“I said,” he started, gripping your jaw hard between his thumb and pointer finger. “Show me how much you want it, my dear.”

You winced, but allowed instinct to kick in. You began bobbing up and down on his thigh, whimpering as the wet spot on the fabric spread. The slick glistened on the fibres as you ground back and forth. Eventually, the friction of dry against wet lessened, and you found a rhythm, bouncing. His leg bumped into your sensitive, aching clit over and over again.

As you rode his thigh, James gripped your dress at the shoulders, kissing up along the curves of your arm. There was a warmth on your skin, a tugging, though you were too deep in the sensations to pull away. A cacophony of ticking began; tiny beads scattered across the floor, bouncing and dancing into crevices where they’d never be found again.

When you finally glanced down, a look of shock painted across your features. Your dress had been ripped at the seams, the delicately beaded fabric now hanging limply at your hips in a mass. James looked on, adoringly, his hungry, inky eyes dancing over your exposed breasts, and the way your nipples had hardened in the slightly colder air.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Are you frightened?” He asked. The lilt in his question was too revealing, but alas, who was he to deny the delicious aroma of fear?

“Who me?” You laughed breathily, like a fool. Sweat pooled in the hollows of your collarbone. No time like the present, you thought. You’d reached the point of no return, and surely if you didn’t say something now, he’d find out when he took you. “Oh, no, it’s just that… I’ve never been with a man is all.”

The realisation swept across his face, the expression telling all the tales of how he felt about being the first man to have a woman. “Aaahhh…. And do you…. wish to be…?”

“With you?” You swatted the air dismissively. “More than anything.”

“Brave. Brave girl.” With that, he scooped you up in his strong arms, and got up from the chair. You wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you effortlessly to the table. The journey was short, and before you knew it, your bare back was laid on cool wood. Your legs hung off the edge, and with one strong yank, James pulled the tattered dress from your hips, tossing it heedlessly behind him.

“Knees up — heels on the table.” He then ordered, sternly. Pulling your knees towards your chest, you adjusted yourself on the table and swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. Short of hearing the snap of latex gloves, you were left feeling like you were about to be examined by a doctor.

James disappeared from your view then, sinking down below the edge of the table. With nothing to look at, you gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes, anticipating the next move. When it came, you let out a yelp, your legs closing on either side of his head. James had pressed his lips against her, peppering little kisses against your centre, and after a moment or two of that, opened his mouth to slip his tongue deliberately along the folds. The sensation of his tongue darting out to taste you was enough to send you to the moon, but he continued, delving further into you. Your legs opened again, exposing more of your aching cunt to him.

You felt his nose press into the mound of flesh as he flattened his tongue on your clit, lapping at it hungrily. Your body responded by squirming, a desperate whimper pouring from your throat. His hands were suddenly on your pillowy thighs, holding you tight where you were. With a vibrating groan, his tongue abruptly changed techniques; he began flicking the tip of his tongue into the underside of your clit. Your moans - though they were teetering on the edge of screams — bounced off the walls of the empty room.

In a delirium of ecstasy, you’d gripped the hair at the crown of his head, pulling it hard. He grunted into your pussy, sending vibrations deep into your core. His hand came down on the side of your ass with a resounding slap. You shuddered violently, your sopping cunt clenching tight against his chin, wetting it as your first orgasm came in sudden waves. James slipped his tongue deep inside of your entrance, feeling the pulses as they gradually subsided. Before pulling away to look at the flower in front of him, and what he’d done to it, he let out a throaty, pleased growl. A small puddle had formed on the table, your slick arousal leaking from the hole like sweet nectar dripped from the centre of a fruit.

“Ahhh…” he exhaled. “Divine.”

His eyes darting to the side, James made a mental note to have Miss Evers re-polish the table. After this, it would certainly need it.

The way he gazed upon you, seemingly satisfied with just how wet you were drove your head into the table with a thunk. You arched your back with a whimper, somehow still unsatisfied. From the side, came his voice. “Use your words, my darling.”

Your eyes snapped open, startled that you hadn’t heard him move around. You swallowed, looking up at him piteously. For a moment you dug deep into your own mind, battling with coherency to find the correct words. And, disappointingly, all you could muster was: “I… want more.”

“Yes….. yes, you do.”

Gently, with two fingers, James pulled your jaw towards him, moving your head so that your cheek laid against the table. There was a certain predatory nature in his gaze as he looked at you. “Open up,” he demanded, his thumb prodding your lips. “That’s my girl…”

He smeared his thumb along your warm, strong tongue, depressing it and feeling around the rest of your mouth. He glided over your smooth teeth, digging the fleshy pad into the decently sharp points of your incisors.

“Don’t bite me… too hard.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers with one hand, sliding the belt from its loop. You watched intently as this handsome, charming stranger handled himself; taking himself out his undergarments and his trousers, roughly adjusting his cock so that it was free for your devouring. He closed his hand along the length, pumping it several times. A generous droplet of precum leaked from the red, sweating tip and before it had time to string away, he guided his cock to your mouth.

He smeared your lips over the head, coating it in his own dripping seed. His hips then bucked the length into your mouth, bringing a whimpering gag from deep within your throat. Gentle, he thought. With the way your mouth eagerly worked him, doing your best to suck and lap at his aching cock, that thought was whisked away seconds later.

Wet sounds filled the room as James fucked your pretty little mouth, your lipstick smearing waxy, blood-coloured streaks on the shaft of his cock. In your peripheral, it was quite a gruesome sight, but he seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to watch.

You closed your lips around the tip as it slid out, letting your tongue flatten on the underside of it. You felt every throbbing vein, but every time your tongue or lips grazed that one, the protruding one, James making sounds that you’d only ever dreamed of hearing a man make. It was a breathy, higher pitched moan, or a choking gasp, and each time he did, the corners of your lips curled up into a smile, delighted with eroticism. You pressed your tongue hard into it, sliding it up and down. From this angle, you realised, you couldn’t do much else… but perhaps that’s how he’d wanted it.

You remembered his previous mention of biting, so thinking that it was something he favoured, you began toying with his sensitivity by grading your teeth along his shaft. He hissed, ceasing his thrusts to crane his neck back, revelling in the amalgam of pain and pleasure.

“Harder,” he demanded.

You furrowed your brows in concern, daunted by the new territory that lay ahead. You closed your mouth a little more, the ridges of your teeth gently clamping down on his swollen cock. Suddenly, James gripped your face hard, squeezing your cheeks together like a fish. You winced as he leaned forward to hiss in your open mouth, his demeanour suddenly callous and dreadful. “I said not too hard.”

He released it sharply as you did, and punishingly bucked his hips into your wanting mouth. His thrusts were quick, and marvelled at the tiny, pathetic gags that broke from your throat every time he hit the back of it. You were so delicate, but so… willing.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your lips with a sick, filthy slurping sound, and holding it in his right hand, moved back to the head of the table. His breaths were ragged, hungry. You blinked away the tears that had accumulated.

“You nearly ruined my makeup…” You whispered, wiping the slimy collection of drool and precum from your chin.

“I’ll do more than that.” Gripping you at the knees, James yanked you down the table’s length, your ass slipping easily against the polished wood.

Briefly, you felt the velvety hot tip of his cock teasing your cunt. He slid it between your wet folds, exhaling loudly at the slickness that greeted him. He teased you with a thrust of his hips, the tip of his head slipping slightly. You whined as he pulled away.

“What did I say about words?”

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you moaned shakily, gritting your teeth. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?”

“Tease me…”

“Oh, but it’s fun. I’ll do so until you beg for it.”

“PLEASE!” You howled a moment later, taking fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him closer. You wiggled your hips at his groin, your cunt trying to find his cock desperately. You writhed around like a cat in heat, whimpering and leaking more cum onto his expensive mahogany table. In one of your hip sways, the hot tip brushed past your entrance, leaving a springy line of pre-cum in its path. In response, you rocked your hips against his, trying to pull him in further. The sensation had you gasping, rolling your head from side to side. “Please, please, please, I simply mu—

Your screams faded away into the back of his mind, dull and muted like they came from behind a brick wall. James watched your lewd, begging performance with a bemused smirk, chuckling through closed lips. Every anguished whimper, every desperate plea that his lack of action brought forward from your lips seemed to send you closer to the edge of madness. He enjoyed that. Too much, perhaps.

He reached up, running a single finger down the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse throbbing away beneath the skin. Such liveliness, such… James swallowed, suppressing the dark sludgy desire that clawed at his insides. His urges had been worse and worse lately, and now with the hotel open… Not now… not with her.

“What do I need to say?”

“Nothing more.” James took hold of his cock, stroking his fingers over the tip, dragging the slickness along his shaft. He exhaled, lining himself up. At first, James popped only the tip in and out, playing with his food. Each thrust, he slipped a little farther in. Out of the kindness of his heart, James was gradually getting you used to the feeling of fullness, but once he felt your slick walls, he grit his teeth. He had told you that he was a gentleman first and foremost, but… such is life. He swiftly sank his hard length into you with little friction. You were soaked and all it took was one determined thrust.

For a moment, you felt nothing but a searing pain as the thickness of his cock stretched your cunt wide open. Tears welled in your eyes, a cry bouncing against your rolled lips. The stinging was replaced with a dull ache, and finally, a warmth.

“My, my…” He admired. “Taking it so well already.”

You nodded feebly, doing your best to muster a smile amidst your punishing euphoria. Had you not been as wet as you were, it would’ve been excruciating. And when he started pounding, it almost was.

James must’ve sensed your discomfort because he brought his hand to your pussy, his thumb circling your clit. Mercilessly. You cried out like a wounded animal and that seemed to only drive him to continue, stroking his finger down length of your pussy before returning his attention back to the bundle of nerves. Your hips swayed back and forth on the table, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that was blossoming deep within your cunt, just above your bladder. It felt like a tangled mess of fire, and your whole centre was aflame.

You shakily lifted your head, watching as his pelvis smashed into yours, over and over again, his cock slipping easily from your aching, drenched cunt. Your hands climbed his torso. You fiddled with the buttons until his shirt hung open lifelessly, like two ghosts on either side of his body. He moaned as your fingertips explored his stomach, his ribcage, and then curled around the small of his back, forcing their way up underneath the restraint of his clothes. You felt uneven skin, the way that flesh raised once it had healed over deep lacerations.

James suddenly picked up speed, drilling into you harder and that released something in you. You felt devious, immoral, and wanted to howl like a banshee. In fact, you did. You let out a shrill, dirty moan, the kind you heard coming from those brothels as you passed them by. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes before streaming down your temples, disappearing into the hair that laid on the table. Your fingers flexed, nails digging into his back and leaving crescent-moon shaped indentations amongst his scars. Feeling your clenching, he growled and lolled his head back in ecstasy.

You pulled your leg up, pressing your nylon-covered toe against his jawline and gave it a little push.

You heard his breath hitch.

You pushed harder, craning his neck off to the side. His moan said more than any words could’ve. With a devious smirk, you drug your toe down the length of his throat, pressing hard into his windpipe.

James jerked his hips harder and harder until you felt his cock twitch inside you, hot and angry, the first spurt of his orgasm planted deep inside you. He then backed his hips out slightly, just enough for the thick ropes of cum to cover your cunt. His cock bumped into your clit with tiny thrusts, forcing every last milky drop onto you. James straightened up, clenching his fists tightly.

“Ravished. Deflowered. Desecrated!” His words echoed loudly off the walls.

His arms came down with a loud thud on either side of your head, his shirt acting as blinders. There was nothing else in that moment; just you and him and the way he’d claimed you, taken every ounce of innocence you had left.

His hands traced along your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. The black thoughts wormed into his brain, screaming for sating attention. Which weapon would he use? Where he'd cut first - an artery? Arterial blood was always so… satisfying. Would her screams be as such? The final moment, the look in her eye? Perhaps, he could hear those desperate, soprano shrieks if he just…

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Your lids peeled open, one by one. The blazing light that filtered in through the crack in the deep red curtains burned. You hardly remembered being in a hotel room… alone, and the hotel room you remembered wasn’t the one you were in now. This one looked more or less like any new hotel room that you could’t afford. Moving yourself into an upright position, you let out a depressed bleat… the headache. How much champagne did you have last night? You couldn’t remember.

Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you stumbled towards the door. “Just a minute!”

You were completely nude. That wouldn’t do to answer the door in. Panicked, you looked around the empty hotel room, considering the bed sheets for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Praising the gods for the robe that had been hung on a hook by the door as you slipped your arms into it and hurriedly tied it round your waist. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the framed photo near the door; your hair was a wreck, makeup smeared, and there were the faintest whispers of new bruises along your collarbone and neck.

The doorway was empty, as was the hallway.

Except for the box at the floor.

Despite giving a complete stranger your virginity last night, you had more sense than to bend down and open a foreign box. Clutching the robe at your chest, you began gingerly prying open the edge of it with your foot, wiggling your big toe underneath the fine cardboard until the lid popped off.

Inside, carefully arranged and wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, laid a dress; a dress that was terribly similar to your own, but considerably more expensive. Atop it, a package of fine silk nylons. And atop those, in exquisitely elegant penmanship, a handwritten note lay. It read:

Thank you for a splendid evening, my dear. My deepest apologies about your dress — please accept this as a replacement. As for the flowers, it only seemed fair, considering the circumstances.

xoxo James P. March

You picked the box up, again checking the hallway to see if the deliverer was there. Still, empty. With a sigh, you shut the door, leaning against it. As you leaned there, holding the box in your arms, the corner of it digging into the middle of your neck, you winced at a sudden pang of soreness.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly noon!? Oh, RATS!”

You pushed yourself off the door and changed hurriedly, throwing the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor. Mother! Mother would be furious and nothing was more terrifying than her rage. You’d rather be chopped up and filleted than have to deal with Mother’s anger, even as an adult. You pulled the nylons up as far as they could go without clips, and snatched the mink stole off the bed.

You threw open the heavy door and turned to your left, hoping for the best. You began running as quickly as you could down the lengthy hallway, barefoot. The straps of your shoes were hooked around your middle finger. With no markers, and no indication of where you were going, anxiety climbed your throat. Somehow though, after winding back and forth and up and down for what felt like hours, you managed to find the lobby.

As you emerged from the hallway, it was considerably less busy than last night. Where the band had been, waiting chairs and tables had been placed, a courtesy for guests waiting to check in. The cleaning team of the Hotel Cortez was marvellous, you had to admit. As you ducked your hips away from the edge of a chair, you spotted him. James March was leaned against the bar, chatting gayly with the bartender. The bartender nodded, swiping a rag over the spot directly in front of him. A glass of bourbon sat in front of James, perspiring. Much like you were. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He looked the same as he had last night, no hint of a hangover or fatigue. Just… charming. You inhaled and headed for the door.

“A perfect fit!” He called out from the balcony, his glass raised in a cheers. A few guests turned, searching for the voice. You jumped. The man had a talent for startling you — you’d give him that. You turned, your brows upturned in the middle, asking silently for clarification.

“The dress!”

“Oh! Yes! It does…. Thank you! It’s beautiful, Mr. March!”

“How’s your neck!?” He asked, lowering his head slightly.

The question threw you off. “….fine, but I really must be going, Mr. March! Bye!”

“Come back to the Hotel Cortez any time, my darling! As my guest.”

James watched you hurry out the door, knowing that if you did come back for a second time… it would be the last time.

#James Patrick March #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #AHS Hotel #james march x reader #myfics

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savaralyn2 · 4 months

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#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #ryoko kui #also- for anyone who maybe doesn't 'get it' hiroki is generally a boys name

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satoruxx · 5 months

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here's a quick sneak peek from my upcoming wip just bc it's satoru's birthday and i don't have anything else prepared <3

gojo satoru x fem!reader

satoru lets his eyes roam over the gilded tables and sparkling chandeliers, all but used to the glamor of dances and other events he's been overseeing the past few years. even though he's supposed to stay out of the fray, attached to the wall where fellow guards remained stationed for an imminent emergency, satoru enjoys events like this.

he doesn't care for the noise, or the gross display of wealth, or the gossiping nobles and high elders. but he likes seeing you.

he likes seeing the pretty dresses you wear and how you seem to glow under the lighting of the candles. he likes seeing the flush settling high in your cheeks as you laugh with your friends. he likes seeing you against the backdrop of splendor because you're a vision just on your own.

he'd been watching over you at these events for a few years now, ever since he was thirteen and your father appointed him as your royal guard. he knew the routine well enough—you'd greet your friends and the other nobles with polite bows, then make rounds with your mother, followed by a customary dance with your father. then you'd be left to your own devices, free to enjoy the event as a young princess with barely a weight on her shoulders. his favorite part was when you'd eye the kitchen staff bringing in food—somedays you'd sneak him a piece of tart, and he'd stand against the wall, hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he bites back a smile bursting with flavor.

that was a few years ago. satoru didn't realize that the older you got, the more things would change. he'd changed too, of course, no longer the young boy barely nine years old who sat in front of you with hunched shoulders. now, he's grown, almost eighteen as his bones elongate and features become more sharp. he'd heard a few of the maids whispering about how handsome he'd turned out to be, and he stood in front of your bedchamber with his chest puffed out and chin held high. handsome enough for a princess?, he wanted to ask—but he figured that would get him into trouble.

but with his coming of age, yours followed. you're still only about sixteen, but satoru thinks you've grown to be quite pretty. in some ways you've changed, and yet in some ways you're exactly the same—still sweet and kind like you were the day he first met you. he figured he'd be the only one who'd notice though.

but being sixteen meant that you were now supposed to be shown to other eyes—other lanky princes and sons of high nobles who followed you around the ballroom asking for a dance. one night, when satoru was standing guard outside your door, he heard you whining to your mother.

"i just don't understand why," you had said, voice miserable in a way that satoru could easily pick out. your mother sighs complacently.

"because it is your responsibility," she replies, voice aged with years of experience. "courting is something that every princess must go through once they are older. it's your turn now."

"but what if i don't like any of the other noble boys?"

satoru doesn't hear the answer, but he spends the rest of the night with a too tight grip on the hilt of his blade.

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bmbochangetales · 6 months

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Being a witch is a powerful thing. You can do pretty much whatever you want with a snap of your fingers. Sure causing death and destruction will get you as enemy #1 but most things will fly under the radar.

Savannah was going out for drinks alone. It had been that kind of week. None of her friends were available so she decided to have fun with it. She used her powers to grow her chest. A very manageable D cup. Just a bit more padding on her butt with more shapely hips.

One more snap and she had flawless hair and make up. Her normally frizzy black hair become a sleek style. Her make up was very glamorous. It would have taken hours. She completed the look with a dark red knee length dress and a pair of manageable heels.

The bar was decently busy. She was sure someone would buy her a drink. She sat at the bar with her cheap vodka soda waiting for a poor chump to come along. After a bit, a middle aged fellow sat next to her. He wasn’t the perfect ideal but free drinks were, well free drinks. His back was slightly to her in the bar chair. She was formulating a plan for how to work it when he ordered his drink and a second one.

He turned to her and said "Bartender said you were drinking the cheap stuff, I've upgraded you. No one should drink that stuff." This was easier than she thought. A glass was placed in front of her she inspected it and it seemed normal. She tipped her old glass back to chug the contents. She didn't catch him slip something into her previously safe cup. she lifted it to her lips and enjoyed much better taste.

"Tell me about yourself girl" he prodded her after she had a few sips. She normally made u stories for the men at bars but she found herself telling him her real life story. He asked more questions and she answered truthfully.

"Tell me what makes you special girl" he leaned back in the chair.

"Well I am a witch" she had never revealed that to anyone. She was shocked at herself even. He just laughed a bit but gave her a suggestion.

“Why don’t you give yourself huge boobs if it’s true? Like a solid J cup? I’m sure you’ll love them” He prodded her.

“Well okay” it wouldn’t hurt to show off a bit. She pointed at her chest and they began growing. She thought D cups were large before. These were comically so. She loved them though. A massive pair of tits looked so good on her. She should have done this way sooner. She was made to have j cups. Bigger boobs are way better.

She proudly showed off her tits to the stranger. Not caring that he knew her secret. That he just made her grow her chest to enormous proportions. She just simply listened. It felt good, She was rewarded with a shiver that began at her warm wet cunt.

“I think more jiggle and sensitivity will make you enjoy them more. Try it out” He calmly stated as he gestured to the bartender for another round. He was probably right as she worked her magic again. They didn't get any bigger but they felt so much better as the moved around and bounced. FUCK they felt good now. Why did she never do this before? This man was so smart. Fuck these tits were great.

She never thought about using magic to permanently change herself. It was silly really that she waited for this man to tell her. Why was she listening to him even. He noticed the confused look on her face. Like a thought was fighting to get through. He motioned to the bartender. He quickly gave a shot and he was able to slip the powder in as she fought with her thoughts.

"Drink this, and enjoy it like a good girl" She took a shot that had the same shimmer as her drink. She slowly took it to her lips making a show of staring him down. She tilted the shot glass in her lips and moaned like it was the best thing she ever tasted. She started licking every drop from the shot glass.

“You really love being controlled, don’t you pretty witch?” the words should have triggered her but she just giggled and stroked his arm. "It is super fun. I want to be a good little witch for you."

“Obedience powder. It’s so great, isn’t it?” He held a glittering powder in a bag in front of her face. It was so pretty. And it made her listen to master. She loved being controlled, there was something so sexy about.

#mind control #bimboification #my writing #my story #short story

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deadghosy · 2 months

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[YOU GOT MESSAGE!]

Hello there fellow author!

It seems like your chibi!Reader and penguin!Reader has gotten mother figure:D

With honor please have v!Reader giving them both some flowers(plotanically ofc)

(I'm gonna write a tiny fic about these three hehe: 3)

OMG PLEASEEE LETM ME READ THE FANIC WHEN YOU FINISH HEHEEH💗💗

V! Reader pops out a of golden portal, they were going to fall on her face only to put her arms forward and do a front flip to avoid her face being injured. As v!reader dust themselves off they notice the two cute other readers she has been dying to meet. Penguin and chibi who are playing uno. Penguin quacks shocked seeing another reader they have never met before.

Chibi squeaks with a gremlin smile and hops in their ✨HOT PINK GLAMOR CAR✨ and circles around the older woman as v!reader chuckles. Penguin waddles cutely to the taller reader as they smile. V!reader picks up penguin and kisses their head giving them a flower. That made penguin reader smile with a soft blue blush as they quack happily feeling a mother vibe from the v! Reader.

Chibi reader climbs onto v!reader’s shoulder as the reader gives the smaller one a flower. Chibi reader squeaks happily with a pure smile as stars seem to sparkle around the chibi. The golden portal opens up for v!reader to go back, but chibi and penguin squeak for the older reader to now go. So v!reader pulls out a flip phone so they can call her whenever. With that v! Reader backflips into the portal with a smile saying goodbye to the cute small readers.

A black teen with glasses showed up behind chibi and penguin. “Well..that was amusing.” The author shocked chibi and penguin to the point they jolted not knowing the presence of the teen author.

#deadghosy speaks🦆#reader insert #penguin reader #chibi #chibi reader

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1004tyun-archive · 1 year

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❥ i love you. i want us both to eat well

✶ pairing: idol!taehyun x non idol! chubby reader

✶ summary: taehyun's coming to stay with you for the week and you feel it's time for a big change. but you don't realize it's an unneeded change until it's too late

✶ genres: angst, hurt/comfort with lots of smut at the end (as a treat!)

✶ warnings: reader has a bad relationship with food, intrusive thoughts, bulimia, negative self talk, brief mention of vomiting, mentions of weight, eating disorders, negative body image, praise kink, squirting, edging, face sitting, unprotected sex

✶ word count: 4.7k words

✶ a/n: i've noticed a general lack of chubby reader fics so i thought i'd do my part and write a hurt/comfort fic involving tyun ^_^ this was very comforting for me to write personally, but if any of the aforementioned warnings are triggering to you in any way, i don't recommend reading. i don't want any of you to get hurt or apply the very harmful things the reader does in this fic to your lives.

this fic is NOT endorsing disordered eating. i do not endorse nor support thinspo, body shaming, eating disorders, or hating your body, no matter your size. as a plus size person myself, i think it's important to love your body as it is and i hope this fic provides solace and comfort to those who have a bad relationship with food or their bodies. you're beautiful the way you are and i hope you're able to love your body the way taehyun loves your body in this fic <3

love you lots 🫶🏾 if you need anyone to talk to about this subject matter, my inbox and messages are always open x

It's a slow work day; slow, boring, and tedious.

And you're starving.

You forgot to bring your lunch with you so your measly meal of a granola bar and black coffee was nothing to write home about. You can't wait to get home and eat some real food while facetiming your lovely boyfriend.

On the way to your apartment complex, you see a gift shop with a TV playing compilations of idol dance challenges from Tiktok from the display window. You decided to stop and watch for a bit once you recognized one of the Taehyun's fellow group members. Sure enough, the next video that plays is one with Taehyun in it.

Oh, he looks so good. He's doing some kind of girl group dance with a couple of the group's members. The girls are dressed so cutely with perfectly manicured hair and nails and makeup. There's a voice in the back of your head that's saying things you don't want to hear, so you ignore it.

But with every step closer to your apartment, the voice grows louder and louder.

They look so much better with him than you ever could.

They're prettier and skinnier than you. You don't think you actually deserve him, do you?

He's probably cheating on you with one of those girls. Who could blame him? He's too good for you, you both know that.

There's a bad taste in your mouth by the time you get to your front door. Despite your brain doing everything it can to ruin your day, you decide to rummage through the fridge for some food anyway.

You're pretty good at keeping the fridge stocked when Taehyun isn't around, but as soon as you start assessing your options, your appetite starts to wane. You think back to those gorgeous female idols you saw on television, with their glamorous bodies.

Slender waists, rounded hips, lithe arms and legs, dainty hands, and long, silky hair.

You don’t look like that, you know you don’t.

But maybe you could if you tried a little harder.

Your phone ringing snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. Seeing Taehyun on your phone screen immediately eases your pain.

"I saw you on TV today," you say.

"Oh yeah? Was I cool?"

"You were the coolest," you say with a smile.

"Did you eat?" he asks and your throat goes dry.

"Yeah, I went out to get something before I got home. Did you?"

"Mhm, I just got done eating dinner."

Taehyun looks a little antsy, like he wants to say something so you call him out on it.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, it's- Okay, I wanted to surprise you, but I can't keep it in. I finally have a break in my schedule so I'll be home all week starting next Sunday,"

"What? Baby, that's great news! I can't wait to finally see you. It's been too long! I mean, I know it's only been a week since we saw each other, but still!"

By the time you hang up, your heart is soaring. You get to stay with your boyfriend for a whole week! What sounds basic to some sounds like paradise to others, truly. The life of dating an idol is a very different world, to say the least.

You looked down at your stomach and frowned as you squeezed its flesh. You've put on some stress weight, no doubt about it. What would Taehyun think? Yes, you were chubby when he first met you and you're chubby now, but there's no doubt he would notice the weight you've put on recently.

He's going to be home in less than a week. What if he realizes he deserves better and he's been settling for you this whole time? Taehyun is a celebrity, he could have anyone he wants. So why you, of all people? You both know he could never go public with his relationship with you for privacy reasons, but maybe it wasn't just that.

Maybe he was ashamed to be seen with you.

As you go to bed later that night with an empty stomach, you recognize that something has to change.

So when the next morning comes, you decide to start with eating less and walking to work instead of taking public transit. You learned to appreciate the four mile walk there and back every day to appreciate the morning dew and the passing scenery as you listened to your favorite songs.

But it wasn’t enough. You weren’t losing weight quickly enough and the ideal version of yourself who lived in your head wasn’t matching your reflection in the mirror.

So you start going running every day after work. You run a couple of laps on the track at the community center near your workplace. You feel energized after working out so much, but damn, you're hungry. No matter how much your stomach growls, you wave off the voice telling you to eat and drink some cold water to satiate your hunger instead.

The next thing you know, it's D-Day. Taehyun is coming home tonight and you can't wait. You don't work weekends, but you keep up with your routine regardless. You walk to your workplace and then run your several laps around the track until you've sufficiently tired yourself out.

By the time you get home, you're able to shower, clean the apartment, and relax for a few hours.

You're watching a program about weight loss on your laptop when you get a call from Taehyun and immediately pick up.

“Me and the guys were thinking about getting dinner tonight. Wanna come?”

You're glad he can't see the discomfort on your face.

“No thanks, I’m swamped with work tonight.”

“Are you sure? We’re going to your favorite chicken place.”

“I’m sure, love. Thanks.”

“Okay, let me know if you want anything.”

It hurt a part of your soul to decline going to your favorite restaurant. You swear the savory, sweet and spicy crunch of that hot honey fried chicken had healing properties. But you have bigger things to worry about. You need to stay focused.

You fall asleep on the couch and startle awake when you hear the front door of your apartment clicking open.

“I’m home,” Taehyun calls from the entryway. His voice is followed by the sound of rustling plastic bags. You slide your laptop off your lap and give your boyfriend a quick kiss on the lips.

“Welcome home,” you say, then take a look at the plastic bags Taehyun is carrying in each hand. “What’s all this?”

“Some extras from dinner. I brought some stuff back for you, too.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh, honey you didn’t need to do that.”

“I never believe you when you don’t ask for anything,” he says with a laugh. “Anything you don’t finish you can take to work tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you smile but you feel like you’re dying inside. Why does he have to be so considerate? As nice as the gesture is, you’re not eating a single bit. You swear to yourself that you won’t.

As delicious as that food looks and smells, successfully resisting temptation feels better than that food could ever taste.

You brush off the gurgling of your stomach as you go through your nighttime ablutions.

It’s 4:00 AM when your cravings become too strong to ignore. The growling of your stomach grows louder, unbearably so.

You turn your head to check on Taehyun, he’s still fast sleep. Maybe this was the perfect time to do what you wanted to do.

You sneak off to the kitchen, grab the cold paper boxes of food and arrange them on your small dining table. Smelling and looking at the food isn’t the same as eating it, you tell yourself. There’s nothing wrong with smelling or observing the food, as long as you don’t eat it.

This should be easy…

Shouldn't it?

You black out hours later and the first thing you’re faced with is a multitude of empty takeout boxes. Two boxes of fried chicken, a box of garlic fries, steamed rice, and two apple mango hand pies. Foods that are usually your favorites yet all you could do was panic.

You start hyperventilating and your vision blurs as you stumble to the bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet, shoving your index finger down your throat and trying your hardest to remove any of the food you ate. After reaching deep enough, you gag around your finger and vomit, bile stinging your throat and tears filling your eyes. You empty your stomach and vomit until nothing but stomach acid comes up, the metallic taste coating your mouth.

"Y/N?" Taehyun asks from behind the door. "Are you okay?"

A string of drool hangs from your bottom lip and you've never felt more repulsed by yourself until now.

"I'm fine, just a little sick."

"I'm coming in—"

"—No! No, I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, honey, really. I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

"Okay, see you tonight." You can hear the doubt in his voice. It pains you to lie to him like this, but you know this would upset him. You gather enough strength to drag yourself up from the bathroom floor and start getting ready for work.

That was a close call. There's no way you can let that happen again. The binging, the vomiting, having Taehyun worry about you, any of it. If you were planning on continuing this, you had to be discrete about it, even if it meant lying to your boyfriend's face.

So you decide to stop eating altogether.

And at first, you feel fine.

You're able to get through the work day by chewing gum or drinking cold water to keep yourself awake. When Taehyun comes home with food or cooks for the both of you, you lie and say you already ate at work or you're not hungry.

And you know Taehyun senses that something is wrong, but you can't tell him. You could never tell him.

This wasn't going the way you expected it to.

You wanted to enjoy coming home from work and have Taehyun play your househusband for the week, but by the time you get home every night, you're so exhausted. You fall asleep on the couch, sometimes even mid conversation, and you wake up hours later with a pounding headache and a blanket thrown over you, courtesy of your sweet boyfriend.

And by the end of the week, you hardly have the energy to even stand up in the shower.

"Have a good day at work today," Taehyun says and gives you a kiss on the forehead at the door. That on its own gives you enough energy to make it through today.

You cross the crowded street, feeling normal, albeit a bit tired.

And then, out of nowhere, you feel like someone pulled the plug on you.

The next thing you see is the blurry ceiling of a hospital room, nothing but beige and speckles. You gasp like you’ve just come up for air and look around. You're connected to an IV and a heart rate monitor and, out of the corner of your eyes, you see...

"Y/N!"

Taehyun rushes to your side, taking your hand in his. Your heart is pounding when you see him. He looks so worried. He must've been so afraid for you.

"Y/N, why? Why didn't you tell me something was wrong? Why'd you do this to yourself?" he asks, standing tears in his eyes. Your heart sinks. There's no way he doesn't know how you got here.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn't supposed to find out.

You were supposed to silently starve yourself until you became beautiful. Not worry him like this.

You failed. Your throat goes dry, rendering you unable to speak.

You just sit there silently and sob.

You’re discharged the following afternoon. Taehyun doesn’t speak to you the entire ride home and you feel like utter shit for it.

As you step into your shared apartment and kick off your shoes in the entryway, you decide to finally break the silence.

“Taehyun, I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out about this—“

“—Why? Why wouldn’t you want me to find out? They told me you passed out in the middle of the street! You could’ve gotten hurt! What if something serious happened to you and I never found out?”

You stand there in silence, tears filling your eyes. He’s never sounded this upset with you in the nearly two years you’ve been together. You could feel your heart shattering.

“Why’d you stop eating?”

The gravity in Taehyun’s voice makes your stomach drop. You need to sit down for this one.

You walk to the couch in the living room and Taehyun follows, sitting next to you.

“I starved myself because I wanted to be beautiful,” you say.

“You are beautiful.”

“But that’s not all. I wanted to be good enough, good enough for you.”

Taehyun looks at you, brows knit in concern. He takes your hand in his.

“What made you think that? Did someone say something to you?”

“No, no one said anything. It was all me. I kept seeing all those beautiful, successful female celebrities on TV and I-I wondered if you even felt good being seen with me, so I thought that… maybe if I stopped eating, I would be better for you.”

You feel so ashamed by even admitting this and, when you’re able to finally look at Taehyun, he looks devastated, like you admitted the greatest of sins to him.

“I never want you to say that again,” he says, sounding deeply hurt. “There’s no way you could be any more better for me. You’re perfect, Y/N. I can’t imagine being with anyone else except you. I've never been ashamed to be seen with you. You know that, don't you?"

Taehyun cups your cheek with his hand and it takes everything for you to not burst into tears.

“Don’t you?” he repeats softly and that drives you over the edge. “You know there’s nothing you could do to make me ashamed of you, right?”

You cry and he wipes your tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

“Not even now?” you ask between sniffles.

“No, honey, not even now,” he leans in and kisses your cheeks. “I don’t want to lose a single ounce of you.”

He kisses your face all over and when he kisses you on the lips, you smile into it. This is the happiest you've been all week and the most relief you've felt in a while. You feel so embarrassed for the tears that continue to slide down your cheeks, but Taehyun just wipes them away and kisses you.

It's when he kisses your ear that you feel a sudden shift in the mood. He nibbles your earlobe and his lips drag down to kiss down your jaw. Your breath hitches and you hold back a moan.

"Don't hold back," he whispers into your ear. "Let me know how good I make you feel."

You sigh as you feel his lips move to your neck and he bites and licks the flesh, leaving a few hickies in his wake. You hold onto him tighter, the fabric of his shirt balled up in your fist.

Taehyun's hands move to your hips and before you know it, you're sitting on his lap, straddling him. You're a little hesitant, not putting all of your weight on him.

Taehyun grabs your hand and places it on the center of his chest. His heart is pounding against your palm and it causes your own heartbeat to quicken.

“Feel that? Only you can do that,” he says. He takes your hand and drags his down his body, down his toned chest, past his chiseled abs, all the way down to his cock, already halfway hard in his sweatpants.

“This is all you, too,” he whispers and your breath catches in your throat when you feel his cock twitch under your fingers.

“Oh my god…” you say, shuddered and breathless.

Taehyun grips your hips hard and pulls you down so your full weight is on him and you grind on his clothed bulge. He's never been this rough with you before, and it's giving you butterflies. You roll your hips and you revel in his hands roaming your thighs, your ass, and your waist.

You return to each other's lips like a magnet to metal. You drag your tongue across Taehyun's bottom lip and he parts his lips so you can slot your tongue into his mouth.

You pull away panting, your lips shimmering with spit. You squirm, wanting to say exactly how you feel but the words are stuck in your throat as you look upon your boyfriend, his hair tousled, lips glossy, and eyes dark.

"What is it, honey? Use your words," he says, looking deep into your eyes.

"I-I need you so badly, I can’t take it."

"Then let's tend to that need right now," he says with a smirk. You head to the bedroom and you're surprised when Taehyun pushes you onto the bed and hovers over you, drinking in every inch of your body.

"God, you're so beautiful," Taehyun says. "No one else gets to see this except me."

He peels off his clothes, down to his boxers and he slowly undresses you, peppering kisses all over your body. He presses a thumb to your now dampened panties and watches with sparkling eyes as he rolls your panties off of you.

"Wait, my turn," you grab at the waistband of his boxers and the corner of his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Be my guest," he says confidently. Your hands tremble a little bit as look down at his clothed cock. You notice a damp spot and that only serves to make you wetter. You slowly pull the boxers down past his thighs and his hardened cock springs free. He kicks his boxers off and immediately comes back down to the bed to kiss you, his cock resting against your soft stomach.

He slides his thick cock against your aching pussy and you shudder when you feel a vein rub against your clit.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers sweetly. “Can’t wait to be inside of you, honey... But before that, I need you to promise me something."

"Hm?"

"Promise me that you'll eat when you're hungry and take care of yourself."

You blink, confused at the sudden 180.

"What?" you ask. Suddenly, you're jolted by Taehyun slapping his cock against your clit with a wet thwack. Your back arches off the bed and your eyes widen.

“Promise me or I won’t fuck you.”

You gulp and you can feel yourself blushing all the way to the tips of your ears.

“I-I promise,” you say before Taehyun slaps his cock against your clit repeatedly, causing you to squirm and moan.

“Promise what?”

“I-I promise I’ll eat.”

“And?”

“I promise I’ll take care of myself,” you whimper. "I promise I'll treat myself better."

Taehyun gives you a cute, boyish smile.

"Good," he leans down to rest his forehead against yours and kiss you. You feel the head of his cock poke and rub against your entrance and you whine. He pushes into you and you gasp, grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as he slowly enters you, inch by inch. You clench around him tightly and he sighs.

"You feel amazing," he groans. "You okay?"

"Mhm, feels so **good," you moan and Taehyun leans down to kiss you again. He buries himself deeper into you until he bottoms out and you wrap your legs around his torso, shuddering at the sensation of him buried so deep inside of you. He pulls out all the way then sinks all the way back in to fuck you at a fast, even pace. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, relishing just how full he makes you feel.

"Mmm, I-I'm close, 'm so close," you mewl, clenching hard around Taehyun's cock.

“Cum for me,” he breathily demands as he reaches down to play with your clit, pleasure shooting through your body like lightning.

Your orgasm rips through you like nothing you'd ever felt before. Taehyun is relentless, continuing to fuck you as you ride the waves of your orgasm.

"That's it, that's it," he coos. "So good, baby." He swipes his thumb against your clit quickly as he thrusts into you, urging you to cum again. You feel a different kind of pressure building in your lower stomach, one that you can't stop from releasing until it's already happened. The sheets underneath you are soaked and your entire body heats up as you realized what you've done.

"Wow," Taehyun says, astonished. "I've never seen you do that before. Fuck, you're so wet."

He mercilessly pistons in and out of you, sweet moans spilling from his mouth as he cums inside of you. He buries his face in your shoulder and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Hear that?” he asks.

Through the haze of your post-orgasm, you can hear the sound of wet skin slapping against skin as Taehyun lazily ruts into you, rolling his hips against yours.

“So messy… you made such a big mess all over my cock,” he babbles, breathless and impressed. You’re shocked to feel his cock twitch inside of you when he says that.

Taehyun slowly pulls out of you and you whine, already missing the presence of his cock inside of you. He rolls over next to you so that you’re laying shoulder to shoulder on the bed.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, your breathing still ragged from just moments ago.

“Come here,” he says. “I want you to do that on my face next.”

“Taehyun!” you gasp. You don’t remember him being so filthy like this before. He’s had his flirty and handsy moments in the past, but those were nothing compared to this side of him.

He motions for you to come straddle him and you’re immediately seized with nervousness.

“Don’t be shy, love,” he says. “Or do I need to get you over here myself?”

“Okay, okay,” you prop yourself up on your elbows and slowly inch yourself closer toward Taehyun until you’re straddling his waist.

“Good girl, now put your thighs on either side of my chest.”

This is the first time he’s ever called you a good girl and honestly? You want him to say it a million more times. A tingle goes down your spine as you follow his instructions, maybe he should boss you around like this more often.

You feel more exposed than ever as you just barely hover over his face. You’ve never done anything in this position before, your heart is racing out of excitement and worry.

“Are you sure you’re okay with doing this?”

“Mhm,” Taehyun says. “I’ve been dreaming of doing this for a while now, actually.”

“But what if I hurt you? I don’t wanna put too much weight on you and—“

“—Y/N, you’re thinking too hard about this.”

“I know,” you say. You squeak when you feel Taehyun press a kiss to your pussy.

“Trust me,” he says softly and your heart melts. He reaches a hand up to play with your pussy, fingers gliding around your folds. “I wish you could see this. Everything about you is so pretty, Y/N.”

You could say the same thing about him. There’s something about seeing Taehyun lie there on his back, dark brown hair sticking to his forehead and his big, brown eyes made darker by his dilated pupils that made him look angelic.

“Lower yourself down on my face, good girl.”

Again with the good girl. Does he know he can make you do anything just by calling you that?

You take a deep breath and lower yourself down onto his face and your breathing becomes ragged the moment you feel the flat of his tongue against your pussy.

His hands come up to grip your thighs and hips. You bite your bottom lip to contain your moans as Taehyun goes to work on your pussy, tongue sliding in and around your folds and the ridge of his nose bumping against your clit. It feels so good, better than you ever could have imagined.

You feel his tongue slide into your pussy and your hands fly to the headboard, gripping tightly as you gasp and moan.

“Fuck, Taehyun…!” you exclaim. He moans against your pussy and the vibrations push you closer to the edge. As he makes out with your pussy from this position, it’s so impossible to hold back. You carefully grind yourself against his tongue and before you know it, you’re seeing stars as your back arches and you cum hard, thighs trembling and hips rocking back and forth at a steady rhythm as you ride out your orgasm.

“S-Sorry!” you stammer as you lift your hips to allow Taehyun to come up for air, but you’re shocked when he pulls your hips back down and gives your core a few long licks and swirls his tongue around your clit. Your thighs clench and you whimper from the overstimulation. When he finally taps your thighs to indicate that he’s done, you pull off of him, straddling his waist.

“You taste so fucking good, my love,” he mumbles, chest heaving as he looks at you with half lidded eyes and the bottom half of his face wet and shimmering from your juices. He looks so fucked out, like he was the one who was just eaten out like a man starved. “You put every fruit on this planet to shame.”

"Stop, you're making me blush," you say with a shy chuckle.

"Don't get shy now, you were just riding my face a few second ago." You both laugh and Taehyun sits up and rests his hands on your soft waist. He gives you the softest smile and looking up at you with those beautiful brown eyes and that's when it hits you.

You love this man, much more than words could ever describe.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"I love you," Taehyun whispers into your skin and holds you tighter. You melt into his embrace, never wanting to leave from his arms or this moment. You wish you could live in his arms.

It's not until both you and Taehyun's stomachs start growling that the moment is ruined. You pull away from the embrace and look at each other with wide eyes and erupt into laughter.

"Guess we should get something to eat, huh?" Taehyun asks.

"Yeah, I guess so," you say, still giggling.

"Why don't I go run us a bath and you order our meal for tonight?"

"Sounds good to me."

You part with a kiss and, even though he's just in the next room over, you're so overcome with love for him. You get teary eyed as you browse your go-to delivery app.

In that moment, you're so thankful for his love, thankful you have each other.

#taehyun fic #taehyun oneshot #taehyun x reader #txt smut #txt fic #crystal's fics #terry bear 🐻‍❄️❤️‍🔥

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